#achieved actually pursuing it *because* of that .. but he never really gives it up either

[bravevolunteer]

headcanon + drawing

SEND IN HEADCANON + A WORD / PHRASE FOR A RELEVANT HEADCANON ABOUT MY MUSE.

michael has kept up art as a hobby since he was pretty young, some of the earliest examples of enjoying this were actually based on his father's and henry's animatronics: as a kid, he used to be pretty fascinated with them, draw a bunch of them, bursting with excitement to show either of them his 'ideas,' whether it was new designs he liked to make up or collections of silly little comics. he grew more embarrassed by this the older he got, and stopped showing people his drawings, but kept up with it consistently!

he expanded the subjects of course, still keeping the cartoonish vibe but more so filling sketchbooks with lots of miscellaneous doodles. he would do this especially when he was stuck at the restaurant without any of his friends to mess around with, sketching the animatronics, decorations, and people. he keeps doing short comic-like work ( i point to the silly stylized stick figure ) and often incorporates humor, but he also ends up improving technical skills a lot too. though he doesn't deliberately practice this as much as most would recommend, he can do portraiture and anatomy pretty well ( his strengths there being the fact that he uses very loose and open strokes, so while the technical choices aren't PERFECT, his more realistic work still comes off as stylized and interesting ). he is stupidly good at animatronic and robot parts definitely from the amount of practice he's had just observing them.

he mainly uses just... pencils and pens— anything he can get his hands on rather than seeking out specific materials.

he's not a painter— michael just figures he wouldn't be any good at it, though that's more so the way he's thinking about it. he thinks he doesn't exactly have the drive to sit down for hours and meticulously craft a "real painting" ( in the heaviest of quotes ), personally i think he'd really benefit from quick-paced messy painting as an outlet.

in a similar vein, he doesn't really consider himself much of an artist because of the stereotypical connotations of the word— michael doesn't think he's really making anything worthwhile, which is why it surprises him so much when people are impressed and/or think he could pursue something creative. i am once again saying i think his art teacher was the only one he really got along with and who made him think beyond a one dimensional definition of art.

also just look at his canon doodles wahhh

[lxmelle]

Gojo was once described by Gege as a “man of resignation”.

It is a facet of enlightenment - in which the concept of “non-attachment” is a big part of (attachment is viewed as the root of suffering).

We can interpret “resignation” in so many ways, as it explains so much about his immense capacity for love / acceptance, but also his tendency to... simply resign himself to an outcome / fate I guess - a form of passivity that can be either considered positive or negative, perhaps depending on outcome.

Going with the flow, neither chasing nor halting anything in particular with his immense might and potential. He swayed things to gently influence an outcome. Followed a designated path trying to rebuild the sorcerer world through being a teacher... which he couldn’t fully commit too either, because he had a role as a special grade who had to keep working.

That’s not to say he didn’t achieve anything - because of course he did. But nothing revolutionary. He said so himself to Geto: he didn’t see a point in it. There were just some things he didn’t think would change - someone else would replace the higher-ups.

And thus. Despite his massive strength, he never did ever manage to go all out. Perhaps this is symbolic of an inherently gentle/accepting nature? But there was indeed a monster inside him too - the one that thrived on the thrill of killing and defeating. It was a beast he seldom let out. It was a beast with a thirst.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll paraphrase: like a sprinter limited to go at 8kmph, like a singer who is only allowed to whisper her song, a painter unable to use any paints for their desired masterpiece - how dreadfully, painfully unfulfilling.

So of course it was FUN to have this final brawl with Sukuna - to give it his very best, especially when he also didn’t feel lonely anymore with a bunch of monsters he can pass the gauntlet (his body and his will) onto in the worst case scenario.

But of course Gojo doesn’t have the ability to predict the future, so how can anyone expect that he make decisions and judgements perfectly or accurately? All he can do is consider based on his own judgement. Alone. As the only other person who help him plug those holes in his judgement, Geto, had left him.

It is up to interpretation whether Geto was left behind first, but this really isn’t a competition or about assigning blame… because where do we even start?

One cannot hold Gojo totally accountable for things that happen around him or how others interpret his actions. He was born different to everyone else. Probably treated as if he had this role to fill where people had an idea of what they wanted or needed him to be, but never gave much thought over what it would feel like for him.

Gojo, Shoko, and those left behind have had to suffer the same resignation. After all: What else are you supposed to do but resign yourself, in the face of a reality where even to things you don’t wish to happen, have to happen? All you can do is what you can... and if you can, you wield it with all your might.

Geto tried it to the best of his ability.

He wasn’t Gojo, who could do it if he wanted to.

Understanding that Gojo wasn’t, and accepting that he (Geto) shouldn’t change that about him (Gojo), as he was likely more suited to be at the school - essentially following nanami’s words and “leaving it to him” as Gojo was in his element / thrived on it, but Geto couldn’t be complicit in the system that would lead them to watch their own kind die one by one — Geto left to follow his ideals.

Gojo was referred to as the only one who can take that curse into his own hands. I used to see it as “the only one to kill Geto” after he failed and almost lost his humanity for the sake of power (killing Yuta would go against his principles) but now it also has a new meaning: the only one who can take charge and pursue the ideals to actually change the world.

The curse is the sh*t that is in the world of sorcery in jjk. Gojo seemed to (imho) now feel the need to catch up and hold the reins this time.

It is the end of Resignation Man Gojo Satoru. The emergence of The Monster Gojo Satoru (who Geto assisted in helping Gojo keep at bay through being the “model of humanity” that Gojo could follow) who was then fully ready to take the stand. Like Geto on that stage.

Bye higher ups.

Before, despite his immense strength, he didn’t force his way through. Perhaps this was the outcome of having been forced to be born and live with no choice but to be the six eyes + limitless. You do not actually have freedom.

Unless, you’re willing to become a pariah. To wield these cards that were dealt to you and completely become the extraordinary.

And now, Yuta embraces the same resigned acceptance of becoming a monster. After all... only a few will be able and willing to turn into a Monster.

Out of love. A Monstrous love indeed.

Geto had monstrous motherhood in him. I guess this extends to others now too. To cast away humanity because nobody else will. Nobody else can. So they have to wield it. Become it.

Yuta represents both the old and new world... in some way, he is like Gojo and Geto combined... power / strength + sincerity / kindness. Of course, like the yin and yang, each half has a bit of the other in it - so Gojo and Geto had a combination of power and compassion, but they symbolically represent each,

Arguably, had Geto someone else by his side, things may have been different.

All of this mess… ugh.

It didn’t have to come to this, right? Nor did it have to be the extermination of humans, but it could’ve been a collaboration of the special grades (Yuki, Gojo, Geto) all trying to solve the 3 different factors to the problem: humans as the origin of curses (research), the old-fashioned higher ups + clans, and the elimination of the curses. There may be others, but you get my gist.

But alas, this is the jjk world.

Just some thoughts, I’ll end it here before it’s more word vom.

[verdantwyrm]

my silly little hcs

more under the cut

Curly

comes from a very very very big family, the kind of australian family that always has either a slow roast or a grill on at all times. their house smells amazing. but no food lasts longer than 10 minutes.

went to college with jimmy, absolutely had a weird fling with him that he doesn't really think about anymore. if you ask him about it he just shrugs "ah yeah you know, we were young. still figuring stuff out" and jimmy is in the corner still recovering in the worst way possible

had a dog when he was younger named harry, he was a boston terrier

actually wanted to join the air force and be a real pilot, but he had to settle for next best and applied to be a freighter pilot a couple years later after becoming burnt out in his early 20's when pony expressed picked him up, he offered the job to jimmy when he was 25

Smokes with Jimmy, totally shouldn't. Anya gives him a serious glare every time he does it, but she doesn't turn down a cigarette either, depending on the day

is sort of ? dating anya ? its a bit complicated, its become a situation of waiting for the first person to act first (they never do)

voice claim - bluey's dad, bandit

Anya

comes from a very small village, she moved away from home when she turned 19 to go pursue medicine in america, unfortunetly it got pricey very quickly, and she was unable to finish her courses, but kept applying regardless until pony express approached her. shes been with them ever since

had a white cat when she was younger named roan

her younger sister got married as soon as she turned 18, which made anya feel a little left, she felt very "behind" and ended up making some questionable relationship choices because of this. realized that was stupid a little too late.

has a very obvious and very terrible crush on curly, doesn't do a very good job at hiding it but thankfully the man is very dumb and hans't realised it yet (neither has she) (daisuke brings it up once and she almost dropped her favorite mug)

doesn't have her license, and probabaly never will. she rides a bike everywhere, is definitely some end of the hippie spectrum but never has enough free time to truly commit to that.

she has a habit of chewing her fingernails whenever she is nervous, so she paints them regularly to try and break the habit. Her favorite color is actually orange.

voice claim - diane nguyen

Swansea

despite what many people think, Swansea actually got divorced on relatively good terms with his ex-wife. As he was sober entering the relationship, and ended it. He still talks to his kids, and laments over how they sound just like Daisuke sometimes. They'd be around the same age too.

he actually hates coffee, and can't stand the taste of it. Tastes like dirt to him, and would rather drink something sweet or even tea if it's an option. He sometimes drinks coffee if it's the only thing though

Curly was actually his intern for a little while when he first started out, he was helping out carrying boxes and moving stuff around to help him get acquainted with the layout of the ship or to put those young legs to work. They go back a little, so it means something to Swansea to see him achieve what he has. He would never admit it publically, but he is proud of him.

He wanted to play instruments when he was younger but never got much say in it considering how quickly his life fell apart. So he settled for the first thing before him to get him out of that pit, and it just stuck.

He plays card games in his spare time, usually practising. Now that he has a victim, he beats Daisuke at everything.

Swansea actually did not trust Jimmy at all when he first came on board, said Jimmy reminded him too much of a weasel. And he kept that right up until the end.

He notices a little bit of his own kids in all the crew, and it's definitely something he internalizes like crazy. Being so far away from his own kids, he tends to let them lean on him a little more than he should and would make a poor Captain for this exact trait. He just can't bring himself to be too strict, and even after reprimanding Daisuke, he feels extremely guilty, even if it was an important lesson. His sentimentality gets to him easily, but he tries to not show it.

Voice Claim - Ron Swanson

Jimmy

Wanted to be a cop at some point.

He doesn't speak to his sisters, they've long left him or gone off to go do their own thing. He's better off without them anyways.

He met Curly when he was younger, and wanted to desperately be his friend but didn't know how to express that. So he hit Curly over the head with his lunchbox, and they've been friends ever since. Curly took it as just roughhousing, something he was very used to in his large family.

He is allergic to cats, and constantly sneezed around Daisuke in the first few months.

Jimmy actually hates playing board games, he thinks they're extremely boring, but it was very hard to say no when Curly would drag him into them every time. It got the point where he had to start purposefully avoiding him until he got over this phase.

After Curly graduated early and went off to go to flight school, Jimmy dropped out. He was studying finance and law. Went on a four-year bender, and got himself stuck in multiple dark pits that he thought couldn't get any deeper until he ended up somehow on Curly's doorstep. Curly has been working hard to essentially rehabilitate him to a healthier life. Jimmy hates this.

Totally doesn't have a huge crush on Curly still, it rots him to his core at how disgusting it is. Half the time he doesn't even know if these feelings come from desperation, genuine love or anxiety of being in that pit again, and he rolls his eyes at the idea of even discussing it.

Despite being very lanky, he is not the most acrobatic man ever. And is quite clumsy, he tries to hide this but Curly always notices and it drives him nuts.

Voice claim - Bojack Horseman

Daisuke

He has three cats back at home. Junebug, Jazzy and Ducky.

Daisuke actually really likes pokemon, but unfortunately, he didn't bring any games with him. He complains about it almost daily.

Even though he beats Anya in board games, he will probably never beat Swansea. He's so jealous of the card deck he holds.

Has an even bigger sweet tooth than Swansea somehow, and absolutely split one of the last few candy bars from the vending machines.

His mother is a writer, and his father is an architect. He wanted to pursue art but felt like it was very lacking in comparison to his parent's achievements. He didn't resist when they gave him the opportunity to intern, but It wasn't fantastic news either.

Daisuke is actually extremely smart in very technical stuff. He will repeat the dumbest string of words, but accomplish something only a master electrician could in seconds. Swansea and Curly don't understand how his brain works, but it gets the job done. (Its the Autism)

Daisuke is actually terrified of doing something without his parent's permission. He was never an extremely rebellious kid, and it always felt weird to do something without them knowing or their permission first. He was a nervous kid and wasn't always sure if what he was doing was the right thing to do or if he was doing it correctly. This was a habit that got on Jimmy's nerves very quickly.

Daisuke sings in the shower, very loudly. He brought his own walkman, but unfortunately, that got misplaced somehow and he's been bummed out ever since. In return, Swansea and Anya let him have choice of the music sometimes to make him feel included.

He doodles with Anya, showing off their art skills to each other. Anya has a portrait he drew of her in her office desk. She loves it.

Voice Claim - Finn the human

[the16thtower]

I watched the Substance last night and I think it would be really funny if the whole Substance set-up was a Herbert West scheme.

So here’s my pitch for a 3rd Re-Animator (I’m pretending the actual 3rd one doesn’t exist).

Picture this: Dan and Herbert are in their 60s, working out of a crappy plastic surgery in LA and living in a cramped apartment above it, trying to make a legitimate living. They’ve been on the run for the last few decades, moving every time either the authorities or Doctor Hill catch up to them. While Dan tries to fill his days giving C-list celebrities nose jobs, Herbert is once again yearning for the god-like power he held as a younger man. He maintains a supply of the serum but only for his own usage (the first movie hints he has a bit of a dependency) and for emergency circumstances at the surgery. His experiments have ruined their lives too many times before and they’re getting too old to have to keep moving. The two of them are close and begrudgingly fond of each other, but there’s a lifetime of unspoken feelings between them.

The two of them get mistaken for a couple and this eats at Dan, who resents Herbert for making him impossible to have a normal life. It culminates in a massive argument, where Herbert says that Dan ruined his own life by never choosing to walk away and pursue the things he says he wants. He questions how badly Dan actually wanted the whole white picket fence charade and Dan likens Herbert to a black hole, drawing him back in even when he doesn’t want to. The fight fizzles out, with Herbert upset that Dan feels trapped by him even after all this time and Dan still frustrated but also reckoning with his admission that Herbert was more important to him than his previous female love interests and “normal life”.

Herbert returns to his studies in earnest, this time exploring the effects of the serum on cellular reproduction. He wants a new companion if Dan isn’t happy to fulfill that role anymore and what better than a clone of himself? He manages to get the egg yolk from the beginning of the Substance to replicate and, in true Herbert West fashion, turns the needle on himself to see what would happen. Dan bursts in as the new Herbert is being birthed from his back. While initially smugly triumphant, retrieving his glasses from the older body, the new Herbert collapses almost immediately. Panicking as blood pools from his nose, the younger Herbert apologises profusely for his recklessness as Dan realises he needs to be stabilised with spinal fluid from the host body. Cue the homoerotic needle scene and we then cut to a terse Dan, arms crossed, staring down the younger Herbert as he enthusiastically digs into a bowl of cereal in a fluffy bathrobe. Herbert sardonically refers to Dan as “my hero” and Dan has to contend with the unexpected delight that comes from seeing Herbert as he was when they first met.

Through intensive testing by Dan, the two figure out that the clone is near-identical to the original Herbert and is unstable by itself, leading to them developing the procedure laid out in the Substance. There is more than one comment from the clone about Dan’s “impeccable bedside manner” as Dan obsessively monitors both Herberts’ well-being.

After about a week, we cut to a scene where Dan and the younger Herbert are out at a bar celebrating the successful experiment, where Dan is both excited by Herbert’s boasts that he’s achieved immortality and sad that he’s never going to see the Herbert that he spent years with again. The clone once again collapses and Dan has to rush him home, leading him to hook him up to the unconscious Herbert out of desperation. The older Herbert wakes up and is thrilled to find out that his experiment was a success. One of his hands is left visibly aged from not being switched in time and while Dan is shaken by this, Herbert marvels the change as a valuable warning.

The clone gets dubbed ‘Junior’ and, because Herbert in any iteration can’t be trusted to be normal, the two treat each other like father and son. There’s a lot of terrible dad jokes from Herbert. Dan often refers to Junior as "the boy".

The three fall into a routine after several months, with Herbert and Junior using Dan as an intermediary to pass along letters to each other. Dan becomes more possessive and protective of Herbert, a change that Herbert is surprised but receptive to. (Dan’s saviour complex for once is not at odds with Herbert’s god complex).

There’s a scene where Dan is examining Herbert’s back scar…

Dan: “You’re healing up better than I hoped.”

Herbert: “Well, I had an excellent surgeon.”

Meanwhile, Dan’s relationship with Junior is more tumultuous - he’s very familiar with what Herbert was capable of in his prime and he doesn’t trust Junior not to draw unwanted attention. He ends up implanting a tracking device in Junior while he’s unconscious for emergencies. Junior himself is more probing and direct in asking Dan why he’s decided to stay with Herbert for all these years, discontent in continuing to allow Dan to hide behind excuses like his older counterpart. Cognizant of the fact that Dan doesn’t fully trust him, Junior starts leaving the house for days at a time to attend to personal projects, leaving Dan to stew in his conflicting feelings.

Eventually, Dan decides to go looking for Junior using the tracking device and finds him making out with an older man at a gay bar. They briefly lock eyes before Dan leaves immediately. We see Junior slip a USB similar to the one Elisabeth receives into the man’s pocket as he continues to kiss him. The next day, the two have an awkward discussion.

Dan: “Last night… it’s fine, I just didn’t realise…”

Junior: “Let’s not kid ourselves, Daniel - denial is not attractive on either one of us.”

Dan: “… Is this… both of you or…?”

Junior: “Why don’t you ask him?”

At the next switch, Herbert wakes up to Dan at his bedside, holding his hand, unable to look him in the eye. Herbert asks him what’s wrong and Dan responds by asking whether Junior can truly be the same as Herbert, taking into account nature vs nurture. Herbert replies that while they’re the same entity, Junior has opportunities that he never could have dreamed of and that he’s thrilled that at least one version of him can appreciate that (his answer is vague and can be interpreted as the opportunity for scientific or sexual exploration - it’s definitely both). Dan considers the answer and finally asks Herbert to clone him so that Junior may have a companion.

Herbert gets an erection is thrilled and the two begin preparation. During this time, Herbert and Dan start to receive strange patients looking for plastic surgery to correct unexplainable deformities, who post-surgery are prone to severe infection and necropsy despite their best efforts.

The night of Dan’s activation, Herbert gently bids Dan sweet dreams before switching as Dan injects the activator. Junior watches enraptured, fully nude, as Dan splits open and the younger self slides out. Junior cradles the younger Dan in a blanket reminiscent of the scene from the first Re-Animator movie and picks up the needle to sew up Dan: “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take care of it.”

The younger Dan (who I will be nicknaming Danny) watches with rapt attention as Junior finishes his sutures, slowly draws the fluid from Dan’s back, and grips Danny’s thigh as he stabilises him: “You’re being such a good boy for me - look at you, you’re perfect.”

Danny shudders in relief and ecstasy. He manages to sit up, meeting eyes with Junior, who is drinking him in eagerly, still crouched. He looks to his older self’s face. Junior joins him, sweeping the hair from Dan’s face.

Danny: “Are we really that old?”

Junior: “With all we’ve accomplished… of course we are. It’s a minor miracle in itself.”

The two tend to their older selves before adjourning to their clinic, Junior leading Danny by the hand to begin their inspection of him. It’s slow, methodical, and Junior can barely keep his hands off Danny. (Whether this leads to outright sex, I'm in two minds about since medical and sexual intimacy are pretty much the same thing for Herbert. If it does, Herbert bottoms.)

We cut to later in the night. The two are outside of the house. Danny asks what they’re doing and Junior tells he’s got a secret he needs to show him. They arrive at a rundown warehouse. Inside we find a laboratory, video cameras, a setup for packaging medical equipment - Junior reveals that he’s been conducting his own experiments on how the cloning process functions, eliciting willing participants by repackaging it as a anti-ageing remedy for LA’s wilting celebrities and socialites. Danny finds himself pitying the subjects unable to use the Substance correctly, to which Junior objects.

Junior: “I’ve given them every tool to succeed - I can’t be blamed for their weakness. They may no longer be bound to the judgements of an unimaginative god, but if they succumb to their vanity, their greed… good riddance.”

The two spend an idyllic week together, enjoying LA for the first time since they arrived in the city and working on the research gathered on the Substance. They’re more casually intimate with each other, what was once fondness is now clear adoration. (Junior often uses pet names, Danny is big on touch).

There’s a scene where it’s late at night and they’re in the rain, Danny holding the umbrella as Junior is scraping up samples from a subject who disintegrated. He finds the heart and presents it to Dan, who smiles out of nostalgia.

Junior: “This one barely made it two months before it attempted to re-administer the activator. This really is the city of unfettered self-destruction.”

Danny: “To what end are we doing this? We already understand the limitations of this process.”

Junior: “I need data. I want every day I can get, Dan, and I need to make sure both of us can be there to enjoy it.”

In the background, we can see something is stalking the two of them, following them as they leave.

We cut to a seedy motel room, shutters drawn, lights dim, a chair wedged under the doorknob of the bathroom. A frazzled young woman with dried blood under her nose is trying to fight off a panic attack as she sits on the bed:

“I’ve taken too much of her time already - she’ll never forgive me. She’ll want to retaliate, I just know it. It’s not fair, I’m not the one who fucked up her life.”

Opposite, a man in a trench coat sits unnaturally straight, listening attentively.

“You poor thing. Of course it’s not fair - what an awful situation she’s put you in, so selfish. Getting angry at you for wanting to enjoy yourself…”

She listens distractedly, eyes focused on the bathroom door. Her attention returns to him as he starts making promises: that he can fix her other self, that she doesn’t need to worry, that he’s acquainted with cases like this and his talents as a surgeon can remedy the situation. She eventually leads him to the bathroom where an emaciated, oozing body is lying in the bathtub.

Dr Hill: “What a predicament. Let me speak to my patient.”

We cut to Junior noting later in the week that more subjects than usual are failing to properly switch or pick up their supplies. Danny slips one of Junior’s USBs into the pocket of a trophy wife Karen after watching her blow up in a coffee shop, which Junior takes as finally receiving implicit support from Danny on the venture.

However, before the switch, Danny uses a Sharpie to write instructions on Dan’s palm, warning him about Junior’s enterprise with the Substance. Dan wakes up and sees the note, showing it to Herbert.

Dan: “Your boy is a troublemaker.”

Herbert: “And yours is a tattle-tale.”

The pair are able to piece together what’s happening based off the data from the tracking device and the contents of Junior’s lab. Amongst the data and samples, Dan finds out a photo booth snapshot tacked to a wall, confirming Junior and Danny as lovers. Herbert finds him staring at it.

Dan: “… Do you think we’re still the same?”

Herbert: “I’d like to think so. Are we really that different? … I still have my boyish good looks.”

The pair’s moment is interrupted as they hear banging against the doors of the warehouse. As the doors begin to buckle, Dan and Herbert fall back on old instincts and start gathering as much of the research as they can. A dozen deformed humanoids stumble into the room, each clearly aged victims of the Substance having undergone drastic, futile plastic surgery in an attempt to regain their old appearances. The two flee back to their apartment and are attempting to barricade themselves into the room where the clones are unconscious as Dr Hill enters with his army. Hill reveals that he is still merely a head, held aloft on a borrowed body.

Herbert: "Doesn't it embarrass you, Dr Hill, that you survive off my crumbs? I'd say you're hardly better than a rat but a rat knows to keep to the sewer."

Dr Hill: "Rich coming from you, West - are you enjoying the prestige of being a sleazy Hollywood quack?"

Hill has his goons restrain Herbert and coerces Dan into grafting his head in place of Junior's under the threat of killing Herbert. Dan convinces Hill that Herbert will need to be connected to Junior to allow the body to survive such a drastic procedure, and manages to awaken both at once, allowing Junior to drive a syringe of activator into Hill's eye.

The three of them attempt to fight off the horde but Dan is quickly injured, leading him to desperately switch in Danny. Meanwhile, Dr Hill's skull splits with an almighty scream as the flesh underneath begins to bubble and swell, slowly filling the room with this enormous, pulsing brain covered in an angry chorus of Hill faces. Some of the horde flees, some are trapped underneath Hill's mass. Junior, Herbert, and Danny attempt to flee with the unconscious Dan but the Hill entity uses its hypnosis to force one of the remaining goons to grab Dan and push him into one of Hill's giant mouths. Herbert goes back after him and Danny has to stop Junior from following as Hill continues to grow.

We see from the street as Hill pops, exploding in a tsunami of blood. Later, cops pick apart the crime scene, counting Herbert and Dan among the dead. We then cut to a long pan through Herbert and Dan's ransacked apartment, as everything of value has been taken. We see into Herbert's private study, which has been similarly ransacked. We get the indication that much like Junior, Herbert has been working on his own project in secret, which appears to be a method of generating stabiliser without the original host.

We then cut to the car park out back of the apartment where Junior and Danny are desperately packing the last items into their car. Both are looking a little sickly and are hooked into some glowing IVs but are otherwise determined. It's not a perfect fix but it's better than nothing. Junior gently wipes away a trail of blood leaking from Danny's nose and the two peel away from the car park and onto the open road.

[blackflash9]

AC and the Conundrum of Sequels

So I've noticed a particular trend that paraded many people's minds within the AC community, and that's been the gradual descent into this rather presumptuous mentality that the more sequel games a character has, the more unequivocally 'better' their development is as a character. This is often followed by Ezio used as the poster child.

[Disclaimer: I don't hate Ezio or Bayek, I'm just using them to illustrate my points] While I understand this sentiment, I've also learned that under a more critical lens, a lot in the case of Ezio's supposed "growth" has arguably always been more aesthetical than anything of substance. When we are first introduced to Ezio in AC2, we are already bombarded with a character that is far too perfect. It's hard to think of any genuine flaws in his personality or behavior - especially those that have any lasting consequences for the plot. He never quite makes any mistakes either; it doesn't help that everywhere he goes there's a small army of people desperate to help him out. He also has actual armies willing to help him at the drop of a hat, as well as being best friends with one of the smartest people in human history. His achievements in the plot are all handed to him on a silver platter.

He's never made to learn to do anything for himself. At first, you feel like that could have been the point of the early game. Ezio's father and brothers are dead, he's a wanted man and he needs to protect his mother and sister. Then, instead of trying to get them to safety, he prioritizes a chance for revenge, which suddenly brings the whole city down on him, making it harder to protect his family. The whole thing would then set up a story about Ezio having to grow up, stop being so brash and arrogant, etc. Having been born into luxury and an easy life, he now has to learn how to provide for himself and others. But these opportunities are missed.

When it comes to Ezio's motivations, I always felt like there was no reason for him to continue pursuing the Templars after all the Florentine conspirators were dead. Nor is there any kind of "Creed" or higher calling at play here, since he doesn't remotely know what the Assassins are for another ten years. He just hears that there are some bad guys in Venice and decides to go kill them. By this point, he doesn't have any real reason or motivation to continue hunting them other than his own blood lust. As a result, Ezio often feels like he is a vehicle is that dictated by the plot rather than the other way around.

I mean, only look at the average description for his character arc:  "He went from a young teen to wise master assassin and mentor."  That's all there is to say for most people: arbitrary labels. Rarely do you receive any commentary around here that delves into any shifts within his mindset, outlook, point of view, or anything that isn't just this parroted and outdated take. When we get to Brotherhood, this problem is exacerbated more where Ezio is even more static than he was before (aside from leadership and giving orders), because his arc was already concluded in the game prior where we already spent over twenty years with him where he was already leading people and giving orders. It's just more pointless and reductive padding.

Bayek is another character that normally gets wrapped up in the sequel discussion, but genuinely ask yourself: Is there anything else left to do with Bayek in a sequel? Much like Ezio in AC2, his arc is also pretty much wrapped up by the end of Origins (including the Hidden Ones DLC). He begins looking for revenge for his son's death; takes a stand against the Templars when he realizes the problem is far bigger than just himself; founds the Assassins to fight this corruption. What else is there to really do with the character? His arc's been concluded, it's not even like AC2 where not killing Rodrigo Borgia left a door open for a potential sequel. Any new game would essentially have to come up with a load of new goals and motivations for him to the point you may as well just come up with a new character.

But this is frustrating because we see complete and profound development from characters like Altair in a single game, even before Revelations. He begins as an arrogant jerk who sees himself as better than everyone but slowly becomes a wise individual upon learning from the complexity of his enemies and the contradictions within his own Creed. It's learning from his allies and enemies alike, learning the pros and cons of concepts like freedom and control, about what is gained and lost from acquiring both in life, does he truly become not just a better leader for the brotherhood but a better man.

We also see the same from Connor in a single game. Starting as a naive idealist who wants to fix all the world's problems, only to realize that he'll never be able to do so. The consecutive deconstruction of his naivety through each of his interactions with allies and enemies alike teaches him that the ability to judge right from wrong can sometimes be lost in a world that's presently reluctant to do the same. But through it all, he maintains his faith in his convictions and compromises with what's in his control to forge a better tomorrow for humanity. Altair & Connor reach the same conclusions about life, human nature, and their place within the ongoing struggle in one game, a fraction of the time, as much, if not more than Ezio does in three. Yet, more is needed because we've been spoiled and entitled to more than what was necessary with Ezio. And it's honestly this fixation that holds this series back. Whenever we delve into this topic, I never really feel like the underpinnings behind what sequels actually did for Ezio and his characterization are discussed beyond the surface-level shallow aesthetics, or the ignored light-switch motivations that have made many in the community so insistent that every other character must also have this kind of treatment.

[weather-cluddy]

(Replied as a new post to avoid the character limit)

It doesn't bother me at all! This sort of question is something I've been turning over for quite a while, actually. I tried to make a post pointing out comparisons between non-paired prisoners, because I feel like people focus too much on number pairs without considering other thematic parallels, even with Milgram pointing some out (Eg: Shidou-Amane, Fuuta-Kotoko, Haruka-Muu, Yuno-Kazui). It stalled around Muu though, because it turns out that's a whole lot of entries, and also I wasn't sure that people would be interested in a post that's dozen of paragraphs long (though still much less elaborate than this post, of course).

Personally, I think Mikoto and Haruka have a lot in common and share many themes, but I hardly ever see it brought up. Some of it, I think, is the fact that Haruka's trauma gets a lot of focus while Mikoto's mostly implied, so there's a lot of people who don't look beneath the surface. So they just get slotted in the boxes of "sympathetic" and "unsympathetic", meaning fans miss the similarities even when it's them doing literally the same thing (Like trying to kill Es to protect their self-worth).

But at the end of the day, we have two people extremely afraid yet dependent on other people's opinions of them, whose every interaction is shadowed by the after-effects of their early-childhood trauma in a way that seems "cute" or harmless at first but really isn't, who committed premeditated murder because they saw it as the only way to make their lives bearable, who have artistic inclinations but can't find the self-confidence to pursue them, who are dealing with mental illnesses they have no (healthy) frame of reference for, who are okay with being used and abused (even physically!) so long as people approve of them...

Well, I don't want to drop the entire essay on the intro part. Onto the first section!

(I didn't particularly mean to organize it like that, but the two sections basically came out as Bokukoto- and Orekoto-centered, respectively. Funny how it worked out.)

Children and adults.

What are Haruka's goals? To be loved and cared for, even if it means taking on a subordinate role. To have his weakness acknowledged yet not be shamed for it, to be have his strengths bring joy to those he loves yet not have people ask more of him than he can give.

What are Mikoto's goals? To be a good, responsible, capable person and have people acknowledge him as such. To have his efforts rewarded, even if it means overexerting himself. To find conventional success and prove to those he loves (his mom, in particular) that they needn't worry for him.

In other words, Haruka wants to be a kid, Mikoto wants to be an adult. Haruka wants to be protected, Mikoto wants to be admired.

Why this difference? Well, I see two possiblities. One, Haruka has a golden past to retreat to, a time when he felt loved and safe. Mikoto might not have had that, or he might not remember it: after all, DID forms from trauma very early in childhood, as early as 5 years old and generally no later than 10. And of course dissociation itself tends to make remembering difficult, even before actual alters get involved.

So, Mikoto most likely doesn't remember any 'good old days' he could yearn for, either because he was extremely young or because they never existed. His only option, then, is to place his hopes on the future.

The second thing is that, in spite of Mikoto most likely having earlier trauma, Haruka is far more obvious in his dysfunction. Pretty much every person he meets will at least walk away with the feeling he's kind of weird, if not worse. This only manages to reinforce his feelings that he's inferior to everyone else, and that that's an inescapable part of his being.

Meanwhile, Mikoto can trudge through life well enough to believe that achieving what he wants is within his reach, even to be expected. Surely if he works both hard and smart, he can accomplish his goals without problem. He can get a good career if he just focuses on what he's good at, choosing 'efficiency' over his interests. And he can get everyone to like him, if he just remembers to always, always be nice to them, no matter how much he'd rather not. Then he'll reap the reward of succeeding at life!

That's just how things work, right? You put in the effort to treat others well, and your reward for doing so is to have other people do the same for you. That's the basis of society! And that's also how Mikoto makes himself feel safe. If his own actions determine other people's actions, then he can stop bad things from happening to him by just not doing anything that would invite punishment. Everyone knows monsters only eat the misbehaving kids!  Just follow the rules and everything will be fine.

(That's another big difference between Mikoto and Haruka: Haruka knows he can't do what's expected of him, so by the start of Milgram he's pretty much given up on the idea of ever being accepted or sucessful. Mikoto does believe he can cut it, but that brings its own kind of helplessness: he can never stop striving with all his might, because if he ever does fall short his self-esteem will crumble to pieces.)

The trouble is, sometimes even when you do follow the rules, other people just... refuse to reciprocate. Why is that? Did you do something wrong? Well, you can't exactly go up to them and ask. Now that would certainly be a faux pas! Clearly the only choice is to figure it out yourself by ruminating on it. All night long. Hey, remember when Mikoto said that he wouldn't be able to sleep if Kotoko didn't wish him a happy birthday? Sure sounds like somebody who worries a normal amount about gestures that might possibly be snubs.

But another convo I'd like to bring up is one with Fuuta, where Mikoto shows up unprovoked to tell Fuuta that being upset about being kidnapped is dumb and childish and will get him nowhere in life, and anyways he's just doing it for attention.

This seems a bit OOC, doesn't it? Mikoto basically never criticizes anybody. When Yuno basically calls him fake to his face, he just laughs and calls her a straight shooter. When Haruka said that he's been avoiding Mikoto because he's scary, he just shrugs and goes, that's fair, I'd have done the same. Hell, even knowing that Kotoko tried to beat him half to death, he still goes to congratulate her on her birthday. So what did Fuuta say that was so much worse than all of those?

The problem, really, isn't what Fuuta said or did to Mikoto, but how Fuuta behaves with everyone. Mikoto can put up with being openly disliked; see his interactions with Kotoko. But seeing somebody so brazenly ignore the rules he's based his life around, now that affects him a way that goes beyond Mikoto as a person.

If you asked Mikoto, he'd probably say that it's because he's sad to see somebody younger than him waste his potential with such stupid, meaningless stubborness. But really, it comes back to the fact that "nothing bad will happen as long as you behave" is one of pillar's of Mikoto's life. So how is he supposed to handle seeing somebody misbehave constantly, repeteadly, and still do just as well as him? What's that supposed to mean? Do things not actually work that way? Was he just being taken advantage of? That can't be. If being nice doesn't ensure that you'll get treated well, what does? He endured so much pain because it was supposed to pay off someday. Were all his efforts so far just make-believe, a kid hiding under the blankets thinking it'll do anything?

No, no, no. It's the others who are wrong. All his suffering until now was meaningful and helpful. He knows what he must do and he's not going to stray from the right path. Those who do are just bringing punishment down onto themselves. And while he's not capable of consciously acknowledging his anger, he can always try to share some "friendly advice" about what happens to those who fight against forces greater than themselves. You can't win those battles. He never won, so of course you can't win them. Stop struggling, it's for your own good.

(Amane-Mikoto parallels? In my Haruka-Mikoto parallels post? It's more likely than you think!)

Saviors and weaklings

You might be thinking that the title says it all, really. Haruka is a weakling, Orekoto is a savior, those are opposites, the end.

Well, yes, but it's not quite that simple.

Haruka in the second trial has also taken on a protector role towards Muu. This is a fairly uncontroversial reading, so let's go take a closer look at their similarities:

-Both Haruka and Orekoto put emphasis on Es not scaring/stressing their charge any further.

-In both cases, what they're looking for is acknowledgement from the one they're protecting and a sense of being useful ("Rely on me, praise me with your song, I am your savior")

-Haruka says that Muu is the reason why he can be who he is now. The same could be said for Bokukoto and Orekoto: without the latter, the former would not be able to remain his current self.

-At the same time, the 'saviors' need their charges, just as if not more than the other way around. Haruka's life has revolved around the concept of mothers since basically forever, and we literally don't know a single thing about Orekoto outside of his role. Honestly, considering he only seems to come out during stressful situations, it's possible even he doesn't know who he is outside of being Mikoto's savior.

Even the structures of Metamorphosis of the Weak and John Doe are similar. Consider:

-The interrogation starts with the prisoner being fairly unthreatening. Mikoto is rather nervous at the start, but as soon as Es starts pretending to entertain the idea that he really hasn't committed any murders, he calms down significantly. -The prisoners feel safe thanks to Es' temporary affirmation, but this is soon swept away by Es themselves. Even as the prisoners become more and more obviously distressed, Es presses on dispassionately.

-Eventually, they become totally overwhelmed by emotion and attempt to kill Es. Haruka is stopped by Milgram's rules, Orekoto isn't.

-At this point, a different prisoner makes their appearance, whether physically or just in conversation, and the rest of the drama revolves around them. In John Doe it's of course Kotoko fighting off Mikoto, after which he's literally unconscious for the rest of the VD (except for one line), and instead the remaining time is dedicated to Kotoko and her deal.

For Metamorphosis, it's when Haruka proclaims that Muu is his real mom and starts talking about their relationship. In both cases, there's a clear shift in focus from the OG character themselves to how their actions would affect Milgram overall (Kotoko offering to stop Mikoto if he attacks again, Haruka threatening suicide).

Well, we can probably agree that Haruka is a savior of a sort. But can we close the circle and bring the comparison back around? Is Orekoto also a weakling of a sort?

To answer this, we'll need to define weakness. For this, I'll actually refer not to Haruka's voice drama's, but to Muu's. Namely, this part in Queen B:

"Es: (…) One-sided violence and mistreatment… I’m sure it was difficult to handle. It’s not unreasonable to come to the conclusion that murder is the only way for a weak person to get out of that. That’s exactly why I forgave you." Muu: Yeah… If I hadn’t done that, I could have died some day."

We hear Haruka argue something similar after Es tears him down, asking "So what should I have done!? Was I supposed to give up on myself too!?" So we could say that a weak person is somebody who's trapped by their circumstances, somebody with the deck stacked so far against them that they have no choice but to take extreme measures.

I think that's pretty much how Orekoto views his own situation. Looking at his parts of MeMe, most of the what-if sentences basically come down to "I don't want to do this, but I can't not do it either". We also have lyrics like "It’s like what’s wrong isn’t wrong" and "Is this selfish?", showing that Orekoto is also full of self-doubt about this being the right thing, but doesn't see any other choice. After all, "Hurting it, holding it down, it doesn’t change anything, does it? Ahhh, It’s the same anywhere I go".

Like Haruka, nothing he tries seems to work and he's desperately trying to survive in any way he can. Whether this "death" is on a purely emotional level or if, like Muu, it's hinting at suicide ("Maybe it’s ok to try to keep on living"), he needs to get away. It doesn't matter anymore if it's "good", so long as it works.

Of course, I'm sure Orekoto wouldn't take well to the idea that he's weak. His breakdown in John Doe was, of course, because of Es pushing Bokukoto, but his rant was almost entirely focused on how weak and pathetic Es was. It seems that in that he resembles Fuuta (who was, after all, the first prisoner to try violence): when he's scared, he tries to intimidate the threat to feel safer.

(Of course, there's something to be said for Haruka also despising his own weakness, even if his reaction to it is to worship others for being different rather than project this hatred onto them.)

(And while we're in the topic of Fuuta, it's worth noting that he's also part of the overall protector theme spanning several characters. He even relates to Haruka and Mikoto directly, in that those two are the ones he picked as "weak" people he needed to look out for)

Muu and Haruka, even before the second trial, they were both weaklings and saviors of the weak (themselves). But this doesn't apply to Mikoto, because the roles are split between the alters. There's a clear separation between the 'good', pitiable, socially acceptable Bokukoto and the 'bad' and violent Orekoto. And you know where else we see something like this? Haruka's MVs.

This is most obvious in Weakness, where the separation is at its starkest, to the point where many people didn't think Haruka's younger self was him at all. Basically, every bad thing in the video is attributed to older Haruka. Li'l Haruka plays happily with his maybe-sister, older Haruka attacks her. Li'l Haruka pets his dog while his mom smiles by his side, until older Haruka bashes its skull in. And of course, in the end older Haruka is so consumed by hatred that he chokes his terrified younger self to death. Not the first time he attacks him(self) either; back at almost the start, older Haruka shoves him into a crayon puddle, with the camera making sure to show kid Haruka's terrified expression and Haruka's cold glare.

(I want to point out the dog scene in particular. Specifically, how the younger Haruka is horrified to find blood on his hands even though he never actually laid hands on the dog. This is quite reminiscent of the scene in MeMe where Mikoto becomes afraid of his reflection's evil expression and falls backwards, only to have the devil card fall on him and corrupt all the water into blood. But an interesting difference is how, while Mikoto not remembering is just a literal retelling of events, the same shouldn't apply to Haruka. And if the girl is the same age in AKAA and in Weakness, suggested by the fact she's dressed the same in both, then she couldn't have been playing with same-age Haruka either.)

In AKAA this divide into a good, young Haruka and a bad, older Haruka is less stark, presumably because after a forgiven verdict Haruka feels less disconnected from his past as a 'good kid'. It's not gone, however. We do see his younger self kill fish and a butterfly, but the harder-hitting murders of the dog (and possibly the girl, it's hard to tell) are left to his 17-years-old self. Not to mention the sequence when his mother opens the door, which is probably the part where Haruka is framed in the most threatening way across the entire MV. That too shows us only the current Haruka, notable because just seconds before it kept switching between the two of them.

At the same time, there's also a disconnect in Weakness between current Haruka and his murders. When we see him killing somebody he actually killed in real life (that is, the girl and the dog), it's followed shortly by him waking up in his bed, framing it all as just a dream. This is very similar to how in MeMe the second scene shows Orekoto killing somebody, with the third starting with Bokukoto gently waking up, completely unaware. There's of course also the line "I’m probably just having a bad dream, I need to wake up soon", which only drives it further home.

Well, I think that wraps up my points. To TL;DR it, some themes to consider are: fixated on past/fixated on future, giving up/trying too hard, dependence on others, wanting to feel useful, black and white thinking re: oneself and viewpoints warped by childhood trauma.

For a bit of extra fun, I'd like to note some shared visual motifs between MeMe, Weakness and All-Knowing and All Agony. There won't be much meaning analysis from me here, so feel free to supply your own.

Music Videos

(Some of the screenshots repeat, that's intentional)

Surrounded by eyes: Most obvious in Weakness, but the Hanged Man in Mikoto's shirt (and less obviously, the Magician) also show something similar.

Water turning into blood: This one is somewhat dificult to show in still screenshots, but it's present in both MeMe, Weakness (when one of Haruka's teardrops fall onto the water) and arguably AKAA as well.

Red skies with a moon visible: Interestingly, this one seems to be associated with younger Haruka in Weakness (most obvious at the very start, when he and older Haruka switch rapidly, with the scene outside the window also changing). There's one very obvious moon in a red sky near the end of MeMe, but there might be another one shown in the Fool card. Lots of Mikoto's cards show circles in the upper corner of the cards (but interestingly in the Hanged Man it's at the bottom, near their head, like an halo). Whether we can consider them all moons is up to speculation, but few of them match the color scheme anyways. Speaking of which, while Weakness almost always uses grey/blue moons with red skies, there are two exceptions: when Haruka is shown killing the dog (blue sky, red moon) and in a piece of official art that shows a red moon on a red sky.

Confusion between indoors and outdoors: If you notice, literally everything in Weakness happens indoors, except for the bits where Haruka is floating in water. Even the forest has floorboards, except for a single scene. The opposite also happens: we see kid Haruka out for a walk with his mom, but they're still inside the house, with the city just being images on the wall. Meanwhile, the mindscape in MeMe shows a ruin (no walls) on an endlessly extending sea and sky (natural-ish settings), but it also reflects the structure of Mikoto's house. So is it inside or outside? Looking at the shoes, both Mikoto and younger Haruka are dressed as though they're outside, but older Haruka is wearing slippers.

Reflections not matching "reality": Note how neither Mikoto nor the coffee table show up in the water in the second image, or how the paintings go from having no reflection to having each other's reflection, with those facing the wrong way. The fourth and fifth images are also an interesting example of the reflections not even matching each other, even though the timing and framing suggest we're still looking at the same scene.

[oh-my-damn]

How can a guy that looks like chris, has the financial stability he has, has accomplished a lot more than I’ll ever do in my life, be so insecure? It’s really apparent too. He’s always seem off to me but I would let it go because how handsome he is. He’s got the resources to find someone to help him through all of that and it annoys me he takes no advantage of it. That we know of.

Because confidence doesn't come from what you have, it doesn't even come from what you look like, in most cases.

It comes from who you are.

It comes from knowing who you are, who you want to be, and either knowing you're working towards that goal, or knowing you've achieved it.

It comes from the people surrounding you, the ones you have that fulfills your life and makes you feel like you've done well because they love you for who you are. Because they love the core of your being.

I think confidence stems from a lot of things, but I don't think anything materialistic defines it.

You can have people coming from nothing who achieve everything because they're confident they can do it. And you can have people who've been given everything since birth who achieve nothing because they aren't.

I think a lot of factors plays in, like the people you're surrounded by (family and friends etc), to the environment you grow up in and/or subsequently choose to be in later in life, but I also think it has a lot to do with yourself.

Personal self growth can change the trajectory of anyones life.

If you choose to focus on who you want to be, the person you'd like to be or become, instead of focusing on who you should be because everyone else wants you to, I believe confidence comes naturally.

But if you live your life according to others wants, needs and demands, it eventually becomes difficult to feel confident in yourself, because you're not living your life for you.

And ultimately I think confidence comes from being content with who you are as a person. A lot of factors come into play when you try to define yourself, and in the end, what matters is that you're happy with who you are, because of all of that. How you treat others, how you've lived your life, if you feel like you've done some good or accomplished the things you dreamt about - or if you feel like you're on the road, towards all of that.

If you give it all up, for one reason or the other, in my humble opinion, I believe it's hard to be content with yourself and your life.

Which is also why it's so interesting that Chris chose to say in that SMA interview that he would describe himself as "content".

Because it's very obvious, to anyone who's paying attention, that he isn't content. He never has been.

In that very same interview, he talks about all the things he still wants (some of them are things he's wanted for years and years according to what he's said publicly) but also all these hobbies etc that he "wished he would pursue but probably never will."

There are so many indicators in that interview alone that speaks volumes to the person he is.

And he is not confident in himself (he even says "I hate myself so I fooled you all") he's pretending to be confident because he's been taught how to look it for the majority of his life, without ever actually feeling it.

And eventually it tears you down; it makes you make stupid, impulsive decisions, it causes you to make mistakes.

He's always been doing it but we're paying more attention now.

Those mistakes can be corrected, but the cost is to look at oneself and ask "What do I truly want? Who do I truly want to be?" and work towards that.

That man is not in tune with himself, I don't think he's lived his life purely for himself in a very long time, and I think he's too afraid to try and fix it at this point. He won't be content, or confident, or truly happy until he finds out who he is and who he wants to be.

[the-almighty-gob-john-langley]

And WHO exactly is Sam Smith?

Opinions will no doubt be divided when it comes to answering that particular question, I'm sure, and not all favourable either. From my iconoclastic viewpoint, as ever, I would say he, yes, HE has mastered the ability to infinitely crawl up his own backside and out again more successfully than anything Houdini could have achieved as an escapologist.

Why? Because Sam Smith in reality is nothing more than an illusion. A manufactured figure who would be an absolute nothing if it wasn't for the spotlight of television and a pawn in that particular game that sucks up to HIS own vanity. You see, years ago in order to become a 'celebrity' you'd have had to work your way up from the bottom of the ladder, touring the clubs night after night, building your following, and then getting noticed if you were lucky enough and proved your talent. Even though that still didn't guarantee any promise of real success to superstar level.

If you've never heard of a rock band called 'Dumpy's Rusty Nuts' then count this as your introduction to them. Not that I'm in any way an expert fan or anything, I'm simply aware of their existence and the fact they've been around a very long time and are hugely, and I mean hugely successful. They've built their fanbase from sheer hard work, trudging up and down motorways to venue after venue, night after night, and relentlessly pursuing their passion for playing to audiences that range from hundreds into stadium numbers supporting much bigger artists, and can quite rightly qualify for the title 'legendary'.

Sam Smith, on the other hand, is nothing more than a manufactured puppet of an industry that views him as a mere product of its own making, and to be honest, I feel sorry for HIM as much as I do for those who have bought into HIS brand of egotistical bullshit. Like so many acts before HIM, he's become a creation who serves a purpose until such time as HIS bubble bursts and the next potential to extensively hype turns up. Like the majority before him though, he's so far up HIS own rear end with ego that he believes HE is something HE isn't, and somehow God's gift to a music industry that quite frankly couldn't give a damn as long as they're making money out of HIM while it lasts, and so, consequently the entire entertainment industry will mollycoddle him, blow constant smoke up HIS backside by sycophantly telling HIM how wonderful HE is because they know HE'LL buy into their grovelling, doff capping, yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir, have whatever you want that makes you happy, further ego-inflating bullshit as everything about him screams ME, ME, look at ME, and how wonderful 'I' believe 'I' AM!

Just how people don't see through this bullshit amazes me. Have we really, honestly, and actually turned into a nation of such sheeple that we've come to the stage where we simply and readily buy into such bullshit with eyes wide closed?

How is it that we are so, so easily led as to not think that everyone in the background of this Sam Smith phenomenon isn't in it for what they can get out of it? The manager who takes a cut, the agent, the record label, the publicist, the costume designer, the make-up artist, the accountant, the tour manager, the personal assistant etc, etc - and all rubbing their hands from the smell of potential lucre as long as HE remains flavour of the month.

Now, I'm not against anyone earning an honest living, and neither am I suggesting there is anything dishonest within the Sam Smith circle of business interests, I simply find this entire sycophantic industry that relies on having to manufacture talent in order to sustain itself quite false and putrifying, and yes, while I concede to the fact that Dumpy's Rusty Nuts will also have their outgoings in terms of fees to management and an agent, and probably others along the way of their career they are more celebrity than Sam Smith can ever hope to be without the ego and publicity machine that has hyped HIM to faux-stardom, and in some circles at least, will live to achieve more in their forty plus year career than HE can ever hope for.

[everythingsinred]

Do you think that even after dating Mikan for a while Natsume would still being jealous?

Hi hi hi, Anon!

So this is a bit complex and I'm sure there's various opinions on this, but I'll just stick to my own understanding of his character for this.

To start with, Oxford has a couple definitions of jealousy.

feeling or showing envy of someone or their achievements and advantages. feeling or showing suspicion of someone's unfaithfulness in a relationship. fiercely protective or vigilant of one's rights or possessions.

Essentially, jealousy is a normal emotion (notice here that the above definitions use the word "feeling") but it's born of insecurity. If you think back on any TV shows or movies where jealousy plays a major role, the jealous person is usually feeling insecure for whatever reason. Sometimes it's justified and sometimes it's not. Let's discuss this a bit.

One: The first definition describes envy of achievements and advantages. You might say this is how Natsume is jealous for most of the manga before he and Mikan actually get together. I wrote a very long series of essays detailing this, but his jealousy is mainly about being able to pursue affection or a relationship. He's jealous of Tsubasa for being able to hug Mikan, openly or otherwise. He's jealous of Tono for being touchy-feely, because he isn't allowed to be. He's convinced any affection toward her would hurt her, so he can't even try it.

That's an advantage Tsubasa and other boys have that Natsume doesn't; it crops up every now and then with his humorous aggression toward Tsubasa and Tono and his moody stares whenever Ruka and Mikan have a moment. His circumstances make it so hugging or spending too much with Mikan is not a possibility and he's jealous of others for not having to worry about that.

You see a few times in the manga when he is less constrained and acts a lot more familiar with her; whenever he backs off it's because he has no choice. He becomes less jealous during those moments, because if he has the same opportunities he can only blame himself if things don't go his way. Granted, I said "less jealous", not "not jealous at all" because Natsume's martyr complex doesn't stop him from wanting what he wants, even if he won't admit it. He wants to love Mikan openly and also to be loved by her. Thus, jealousy would be two-fold, and if either of those desires is challenged (and they are, frequently) then he gets jealous. Yes, he puts his wants aside often, but that doesn't mean they don't exist or influence his emotions.

I don't think Natsume in a happy relationship would feel that as much. You might bring up his fourth alice shape as a reason why he might feel insecure, and I'd give you that if I wasn't a hundred feet deep in delusion, since I believe the fourth shape would become a nonissue eventually. He can hold her hand or hug her or kiss her whenever he wants, and actually has more justification to do so than anybody else.

That brings us to two: The second definition is about suspecting infidelity. I think I talked about this the most in my essay about Natsume's feelings during the Rapunzel Arc, but Natsume is deeply self-loathing. He doesn't view himself as valuable because of who he is and he doesn't entirely buy that Mikan really loves him. He thinks her love is weaker than his, maybe fleeting. She is affection, but her affections are definitely not invincible. She could hate him someday, and he could never hate her back.

"You are mine."

If Natsume thinks Mikan doesn't love him as much as he loves her, then it's completely possible that he might get insecure about her feelings. I don't think Mikan would cheat, but the fear that maybe he's not as interesting, or that her feelings have passed onto somebody else are still on the table. I think Natsume might struggle with believing that Mikan chose him and doesn't have feelings for anybody else.

This is where independent thinking must come into play. To be entirely honest, if Tachibana Higuchi is at all to be listened to, then I think Natsume would be within his rights to be jealous under this second definition. Our dear mangaka has made jokes to the effect that Natsume shouldn't be too comfortable, that he hasn't "won" yet, that Ruka or Hotaru still have a shot. That's not even mentioning the atrocious final chapter, where Mikan apparently only cares about Hotaru and doesn't mind telling every single person that came to see her that Hotaru is number one and the others don't even place (OOC and disgusting behavior, TBH).

I think that's all ridiculous and the final chapters are so bad I ignore them. The only part of the Memorial Book I care about is the Red Riding Hood comic and the HotaRuka picture. I ignore Higuchi Tachibana's post canon ideas entirely.

FIRST: Natsume absolutely should be comfortable in a monogamous romantic relationship with Mikan! He should not be nervous and watching over his shoulder all the time! That's so ridiculous, that he shouldn't trust his girlfriend not to be faithful to him. It's insulting to their relationship and to Mikan, especially, that there's a chance Mikan would change her mind all of a sudden.

SECOND: Natsume did not win. He was chosen. Love isn't a game. I'd argue it's hardly even a feeling. It's a choice. There's a reason married couples go to counseling to work on their relationship when their feelings weaken; the feelings are an important part of a bond, but they're not the only part. Otherwise, what is stopping every dissatisfied person out there from leaving their partner to find a new and exciting stomach full of butterflies and electricity? You choose to work on the relationship because you choose that person, good and bad (to an extent, of course), and there shouldn't be anything fleeting or hesitant about that.

Mikan chose Natsume. She loves him, yes, but she also chose him. She chose to kiss him, to give him her heart via alice stone and also metaphorically. She chose to devote herself to him, and that's not the same as Natsume winning some competition. That was something only Mikan could decide, and she did. If we have any trust in Mikan, and we should, then we should disregard Higuchi Tachibana's attempt to be edgy and believe that Natsume should not be worried about her leaving him for anybody else.

THIRD: Love, in its feeling form, doesn't have some maximum capacity, and as a result it should not be that simple to state who you love the most (but also common courtesy should keep you from announcing that information out loud to a group of people who care about you for no real reason, especially when said top person isn't even there). Hotaru is Mikan's best friend. Ruka is Mikan's trusted friend and ally. Natsume is her boyfriend. There's different types of love and those types are all important and valuable.

I don't think Mikan would be unfaithful. I don't think she'd leave Natsume or have an emotional affair, trying to suppress hidden feelings for somebody else while she placates Natsume. It's a nasty thing to accuse her of, and I don't care much for the Memorial Book for this reason. Mikan loves Natsume. She chose him. End of story.

But Natsume is insecure. He was brought back from the dead just to make Mikan happy, after all, so he has no reason to believe in his own value, still, even at the manga's close. I think they'd both have to work on his insecurity to completely eliminate his feeling of not being enough for her. She'd have to validate him, but I'm sure she's up for it, because it doesn't seem that difficult TBH. He's so beyond happy just being chosen, that if she just keeps at it (keeps choosing him and openly loving him), that it would help a lot with his work on himself.

To the final definition: Being protective or possessive. This one is the one that sounds most like what we see in Kageki. A Natsume who is dating Mikan, trusts Ruka with her, and can be as openly affectionate as he wants. There's no wanting for advantages, because he has more than anybody. No fearing infidelity, because he trusts his best friend and his girlfriend. But possessiveness? That we do see.

Natsume monopolizes Mikan's attention and I personally think that's great. He's being selfish, and y'all know that's what I love to see for him after he's put himself dead last his whole life. Natsume is the kind of boyfriend who wants to spend all his time with his girlfriend, even just sitting around doing nothing, because he's spent so much time not being able to. I don't really think that would ever go away.

But over time, as he becomes healthier, I don't think the first two definitions would apply at all. I don't think he'd want to switch places with anybody and he wouldn't be scared for his relationship. He'd maintain just the right amount of possessiveness. He does after all, keep going back to the "You're mine" thing, so it clearly means a lot that she is his girlfriend. He'd also love any possessiveness from her because being loved by her makes him happy.

I really didn't mean for this answer to be so long but turns out I have quite a lot of thoughts on the topic.

I guess the short of it is that yes, to an extent, I think he'd keep some of his jealousy around, but that it would become less and less about fearing infidelity or of not being good enough.

[moondays]

Mirror

It came across my mind that I already lived in Japan for 9 years, since April 2014. I came to Japan as a student, with little goals and not so impressive achievements. I only intended to study Japanese, to allow myself being more confident by speaking the language more fluently. It took some times, too. I just realized then that I did not only have troubles in learning language, but in learning about myself also.

I finished Japanese Language School in 2 years, great. But what so not great was, I still felt as an outcast. I felt unwanted, somehow. Even though my homeroom teacher asked me to pursue Master Degree, I felt that he doubted me a lot. But I followed his instructions, as well as doing my own research, I got into the university without failing.

And then I graduated the Master Degree in 2 years, awesome. The degree that I never intended to pursue and extending my stay in Japan, I couldn't believe myself, either. Back to my emotions, I felt empty again and question myself: What now? If I went home, I didn't think I had anything left at home and I was already over 30 at that time. But if I continued, what did I have and deserved to continue here?

I finally got a job after 1 year of job hunting. I actually gave up in the end, because my visa was going to expire in 3 months. But my brother told me that, whenever there is a chance, just take it without thinking too hard. I heard a job vacancy from an old friend and eventually tried going for it, even though I didn't think I had the requirements in social skills.

Eventually, I got my social skills honed up in this company. And looking back, I am already 4 years being employed. It came to me that there were so many changes in me happened in the last 4 years. I would say, the biggest change I had was when Puma came to my life. He adopted me and he taught me to be more patient and caring.

I also got support from the people around me. They were also being kind to me, letting me know that I can count on them any time. I guess, knowing that people need me and vice-versa gives the change in people's heart. I used to be so cold, colder than ice. I treated people without caring for their emotions and people would treat me back in the same way. Even I didn't treat myself warm enough.

I didn't know know what it was to love myself, to be myself. All I knew was if I please people, I would be able to avoid conflicts. I also didn't know what I really wanted in my life, felt like no originality at all.

But, then I started to open up to myself. Forcing myself to leave the comfort zone a little and be braver to embrace whatever was coming towards me. Also, finding the right people to talk about your insecurities and not being judged or even compared to is very important. I used to be afraid of losing some people when I was already being dependent on them. But if at certain points I knew it was going to make me less happier when I'm not happy already, then I should let go and give some space. If the person was meant to be with us, so be it. If they don't, so be it. Because I think I would be the same to anyone else.

So, for the last 9 years living abroad by myself, I have been learning a lot. Nothing comes instantly, everything needs a process. Whether it's the way I look upon myself or the way I think towards other people. Some people deserve to be waited for, some people deserve to be left for right away. Try to be patient but it is okay to express emotions at times.

[gamebunny-advance]

Probably the Last of my Thoughts

Pikmin 4 Spoilers

Actually, while I previously thought that Dingo either has special solo missions or that he collects things in 100% areas, I think some of his side dialogue actually implies that he might be a "free pass" for dandori challenges or that he might act as a helper in such levels. So what I'm thinking now is that if you keep failing the challenges, then he may offer to either clear them for a cost or he's an AI that gathers items on his own alongside you to make clearing the dandori challenges easier.

If that's the case, then I do hope there's still a great enough incentive to do them yourself. I support "easy-mode" accessibility options as long as there's still incentive to take the challenge on yourself. Either way, if this really is what he does, it seems like the game is going to value "completion" over "challenge" which is giving me Pikmin 3 vibes in a way I'm not certain about.

Also, I didn't realize until my latest run that you collect pieces of Shepherd's diary and logs from her predecessors. They're probably going to be the source of most of the lore, but since half of said lore is gonna be from her point of view, she may turn out to be a well-rounded character the same way Olimar was in the first and second game. Now I just wonder how many people besides me are going to care about it since she's not the player character.

I never really bonded to the Pikmin 3 leaders despite them having personalities, since their main goal (collect fruit) seemed so impersonal despite the urgency of their situation, and the comic relief moments never really landed for me. It's just not funny to me for Charlie to be the butt of every joke when he doesn't seem to really deserve it most of the time. Like, I get the set-up of having the great respected hero be kind of bumbling, but that only really works if you see them in their prime beforehand. So he just starts bumbling and disrespected and ends bumbling and disrespected.

It kinda felt like they were going the same route with Shepherd, with her apparently being an accomplished captain but only being found in compromising situations, but I think her diary is either gonna really help or hurt that. From extra dialogue from the rest of the rescue corps, they all seem to really respect her, and vice versa, and despite her current achievements, she, just like you and everybody else, have been thrust into a challenging situation that you're having to suddenly adapt to. There's probably even more riding on her, since she has a legacy to live up to, so I'm interested to see if that plays into her character at all.

I'll also say that I like hearing the extra dialogue about and from the other guys too. While they do seem like archetypes first, and characters second, the little bit of character I've already gotten has endeared me a little more to them than the aforementioned Pikmin 3 leaders. Maybe it's because their archetypes are already more "extreme" than, "nice plucky boy" and "bitch," so there's already more room to add subtle details about them in the side dialogue. For example, even Collin, who seems to be the generic "nice guy" like Alph, has a relatable backstory about working to fund his education. And there's Dingo, who despite going down Charlie's route of being the tough guy with fantasies of romance at the very least has a reason to have a crush on the captain where Charlie seemed to pursue Brittany just because girl.

I'm not saying any of this deep or innovative characterization, I'm just saying they're more likeable upfront than 3's leaders. It feels like they're actually a group that had some history together, vs. 3 where they were essentially strangers learning and failing to get along without any emotional payoff for that journey. Like, I can imagine these guys around a campfire and telling stories together into the night.

However, that's all on the side and isn't gonna make or break the game either way. You don't play Pikmin for the story or characters, you play Pikmin because the puzzle solving of trying to do everything as efficiently as possible is addictive. Pikmin has never been a social sim, so a good story/characters are just a bonus rather than a necessity. However, I also think that kid of thinking is part of why I find Pikmin 3 so unmemorable. Of course, the game being fun in itself is a great point, but if the game is too easy, and the characters aren't relatable, then I probably won't have any lasting memories of it.

But I'm pretty hopeful for this game.

[agent-calivide]

Honestly, even though this doesn't relate to most of my blog's content, it's important to me and something that I relate to personally.

All growing up, I suffered from extreme middle child syndrome in a family of over-achievers. Like, got their first B in highschool and had a meltdown because they felt like they were failures, overachievers. Lettered and won scholarships and went to amazing schools for their talents, overachievers. Was encouraged by the adults to go into careers focused around their skills, overachievers.

And, outside of the insane pressure that put on the kids, I never got that kind of validation growing up from anyone other than my mother. Every year the family would sit down and brag about their kids and we'd watch this slideshow of everyone's concerts, plays, pep rallies, but the family was always too burnt out to watch mine and my brother's at the end. And I couldn't get that validation outside of than annual slideshow, because every time I tried to show something off I was either ignored, talked over, or was told "Oh, you did a drawing? Cute, aren't all the cousins so good at that?"

Even when getting compliments, I was never allowed to just be good. It was always we were all good, which was so hard and confusing because all of my other cousins got a moment to shine in their respective fields. I get into sewing? Well, so-and-so sewed costumes for her dancer's recital! I got into cosplay? Cute, aren't all the little girls (the youngest grandkids were all afab so we're called that even though we're all in our 20's) good at that? I started drawing, sculpting, playing an instrument, got into video production, took up foreign language, colorguard, theater, even my fucking goth fashion sense. "Oh, you and your other cousin are both so good at that!"

It was actually so bad that when my cousin who's special talent is singing started giving me vocal lessons, we made jokes about how if I got a lead in a musical the first compliment would be "Wow, [COUSIN] did such a good job teaching you!" rather than "wow, it's cool you got this lead!" And stuff like that deterred me from pursuing choir in school because they were a few grades ahead of me.

In school my teachers just ignored me as a "quiet good kid" while my brother got calls home for his achievements. We met similar, if not the same goals, the only difference was he was chattier. In my own class with my classmates, I had one good friend that was consistently good to me, and when we naturally drifted apart I was exclusively used by my peers as a placeholder or a bench filler until highschool. I couldn't really make any friends, it just didn't work for me (neurodivergence for the win.)

When I got to highschool, the teachers went from "She's quiet but a hard worker" to "Oh, she's [X's] cousin/sister/niece/daughter". Because despite being hardcore "middle child"-ed, I was one of the youngest kids in my family. So I had massive shadows in absolutely everything that I simply could not live up to. The one thing that I have from high school is I made my Video Productions teacher a custom Ever After High doll of Dorothy and hand-painted a photo box to look like the yellow brick road, and he gave me a hand written thank you note not just for the doll, but for everything I did in that class to help.

So little to no validation from family, peers, or most teachers, with an expectation to get good grades (I had a meltdown when I got a C in Trigonometry because I was struggling so bad in Honors Chem), a brother that was on my back for me to get a job because he has a job even though he was 4 years older than me, not getting any praise for the skills I've honed without it immediately getting undercut with praises for other people, and exactly one person who consistently showed me positive attention and praise for all of my developmental years.

That shit doesn't just go away, and in some cases it fucks you up for life. I have vivid memories of sobbing in my mother's arms, asking why I wasn't good enough. Why wasn't I smart, skilled, creative enough? I will never forget the day my dad looked me in the eye while I was hand-beading a ballgown and said "Well, you can't expect yourself to be a professional seamstress. They have actual talent, skills they've honed for years! They don't just sew silly little costumes, they make bigger things! Like wedding dresses!" And while that was the harshest way it was put, it truly wasn't any different from the things I'd been hearing for years up until that point, he just finally said the quiet part out loud.

Most recently, I remember in my discord server lunacornfan (if I can call you that?) made a joke that I was like the Captain America of our little fandom, and I rejected it. Even though I know that I create a ton for this fandom, that I made a safe space for people to engage with it, that I am one of the "cool kids" as they put it, that I wrote a ton of fics for the franchise, am one of the few cosplayers for the franchise, that I have a unique rendition of Agent Phoenix and have had a major hand in feeding this fandom with all the skills I picked up in a desperate scramble for validation, I simply can't grasp it.

I, as a woman in her 20's, cannot grasp anyone thinking my contributions are anything of value. Because I was told for 20 years that anything I could do, someone else could do, or is already doing, better.

Compliment your fucking teens. Give positive affirmation to the kids in your life. They need it. So. So much.

consider: teenagers aren’t apathetic about everything they’re just used to you shitting all over whatever they show excitement about

[b1nibaddie]

i already gave up my dreams when i was younger - must i give up my dreams as an adult, too?

when i was younger, i didn't really know what i wanted to be. because i knew that whatever it was, we couldn't afford it. i knew i was smart enough to go to med school. i knew i was smart enough to keep up with universities like UP, ADMU, DLSU... but i wasn't brave enough to actually pursue it. because i knew i wouldn't be able to afford it. and i didn't trust my mother. it was a safe choice going to public school and a public university afterwards. i didn't have to think of tuition fees and having to go outside of class if i don't pay up, or having to write promissory notes to convey that we are going to have the money to afford going to a private school.

so.. hindi ako nangarap. i didn't get my hopes up. i didn't sign up for NMAT, i swallowed my pride and went to PUP even though my grades were good enough for the topmost universities. i didn't go to a science high school even though i know i can. i did not trust my mother.

i am now working. i finally have money of my own. i can afford to dream. pwede na kong mangarap tumingin ng kotse, pwede na kong mangarap mag aral sa DLSU (which used to be my dream university). pwede na, kasi cargo ko na sarili ko. hindi na ko aasa sa nanay ko, na hindi nagcocommit sa mga pangako at responsibilidad nya.

today, she asked me (again) to buy a house. she has brought up this conversation in the past before. my response were always negative; one, because she's already paying for a property in the province, and two, because I PERSONALLY could not afford it. she does not have a job. si tito lang. i do not trust either of them. if I buy a house, which she claims that she would help with paying off the mortgage, what guarantee do i have that they will really help? though i have always dreamed of having a place to stay that i could consider my own, i never planned on having a house at this age. i couldn't afford it. i have other dreams; i want to pursue a scholarship abroad. i want to travel. i want to buy a car. all of these things i have yet to achieve now that i have my own money. i'm expecting a promotion soon- but the money i'll earn from that will, if ever, be put towards this house. is that even fair?

i want to help. pero it's hard when you have so much ahead of you and your own mother is a bottleneck you can't seem to solve. why would i BUY a house? para may mauwian si tito pag nasa manila? why can't he go home in the province? why would i need to buy a house? why do i have to engage in these things, when i couldn't afford it myself? why do i need to buy a house in a place that THEY want? why couldn't i buy a house that's convenient for me? when i can afford it? when i can commit to it? isn't it a selfish thing to put your daughter, your flesh and blood, under such pressure for someone you've been with for a year or two? bakit ako lagi mag aadjust? pano feelings ko, pano naman ako, pano yung future ko? bawal na ba ko mangarap, kahit ngayon? bakit lagi akong trophy?

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION “Living Memory” [ 4.11 ]♮PART 2, half 2

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Liezel is seated at the kitchen table, organizing a recipe binder. She lifts her gaze when Nigel timidly enters the room, sitting up straighter when she realizes it’s him. It’s the first time in days that he’s seemed remotely interested in acknowledging her.

Nigel: Do you have a minute? Could we talk?

Although she’s nervous, Liezel nods, offering a shy smile.

Liezel: Yes. Yes, I’d like that very much.

Nigel mirrors the tentative smile, coming fully into the kitchen. He joins her at the table, sitting at the other end of the corner she’s against. For a moment, they’re silent, neither of them quite sure how to initiate. In Nigel’s whole life, they have almost never found themselves at odds like this.

Nigel: I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I’ve been disrespectful. Liezel: Thank you. I am glad we’re speaking now. And I am sorry that I have made you feel that you needed to act that way.

Nigel nods. That covers the basics, so they could just end it there… let bygones be bygones…

But Nigel doesn’t want a surface bandage. He wants it to actually heal. He clears his throat.

Nigel: I know I caught you off-guard, and that wasn’t fair to you. But the way you responded… Liezel: I know. I know, Nigel. Nigel: The arts aren’t your thing, and I get that. But you’ve always -- I always felt like you got me. That you supported what I was trying to do. Only the way you reacted about the UK, and some of the things you said -- Liezel: I know -- Nigel: Do you really not think I could do it? Are you always comparing me to my friends? Liezel: No. No, it isn’t that. And I should not have brought up Zay, I am sorry. When I said that, I wasn’t speaking on your ability. Nigel: Then why would you say that? Liezel: Because Zay Babineaux is not my child. Your friend is very talented, but whatever he achieves, or ends up going or doing -- that is of no concern to me. It is not my business. If he wants to transfer away, or travel the world, that has no impact on me. [ a beat ] You, on the other hand…

He is one of her babies. No matter how talented she thinks he is or isn’t, her urge to protect him will always be far stronger. It’s easy to loosen the reigns a bit and let him pursue a risky career when where he’s doing it is just down the street. The other side of the Atlantic, however…

Liezel: It’s not that I don’t trust in you, anak. It’s the world I don’t trust.

Nigel can’t change that. Neither of them can magically make the world a more promising place, or provide guarantees that all will work out how they want it. He can’t ease her worries; she can’t force him to stay. But if the opposite result is this, feeling a thousand miles apart even when they’re under the same roof…

Liezel: I didn’t realize that you were so unhappy. With your schooling. Nigel: I didn’t either, for a while. I tried to make it work, but… I think I need to see this idea through. I need to change. Liezel: [ with a teary nod ] It will be difficult for me. To accept that, and to get used to it. And just like NYU, we cannot give you as much assistance as we’d like. If you want to make this jump -- Nigel: I’ll have to make it happen on my own. I know. I figured as much. Liezel: I am sorry about that. But I do believe you can do it, if you set your brilliant mind to it. [ a beat ] And if you do…

Then who is she to stand in his way? She wishes he could be close forever, but it’s only because she loves him. And because she loves him, she has to be willing to set him free -- to let him spread his wings and soar on his own.

Nigel reaches across the table and takes her hand, which she eagerly squeezes in return.

Nigel: [ in Tagalog ] I love you, mama. I’ll earn your faith in me. Liezel: You don’t need to prove it.

It’s already his. Nigel beams, shaky with relief, and Liezel returns it.

INT. FUNERAL HOME - RECEPTION HALL - NIGHT

All of the guests have finally filed out, leaving just Jack, Eric, and Grace to clean up. She states more than once that the two of them don’t need to help, since this is far from their responsibility, but they insist.

Jack: We really don’t mind. Eric: Agreed. Not to mention it just seems ridiculous to fathom leaving you here alone. I wouldn’t leave any woman alone in this city at night. Jack: Make sure you get to your car safely. Eric: Yeah, and I’ll be fighting the urge to drive home behind you and make sure you get back to your front door. Jack: He’s not kidding. Compulsive caretaking. It’s a counselor thing.

Grace smiles, slightly awkward but undeniably charmed by their banter. It’s interesting to see them interact, to watch two adults connect so naturally with one another. Certainly not a feeling she’s personally familiar with…

Speaking of avoiding danger, Eric claims he’ll be the one to run the trash out to the bins. Grace doesn’t argue, allowing him to take the bag from her hands. Moments later, he’s on the move, leaving her and Jack alone in the reception hall.

Quiet settles between the two of them. Jack offers her a polite smile, which she returns. Sensing the need to fill the silence, Grace speaks.

Grace: Thanks again for everything. All the help you gave us through this. With the arrangements, and now… it’s just been a nice relief. Jack: Of course. Any time.  Grace: Eric, too. I know he doesn’t -- he doesn’t have the same relationship with Lucas that you do. So he doesn’t have a reason… but he still did. I appreciate that more than I can say. Jack: It’s not the same, no, but he’s still family. Our whole group dynamic is… interesting, to say the least, but Eric cares for him just as much as I do. And we’ll always be there to help whenever we can. [ with a smile ] Like I said, with him it comes naturally. Me, not so much -- and Lucas has called me on that frequently, believe me. But Eric has always been a caregiver. It’s in his blood.

It certainly is -- in a way it never has been for Grace. Jack’s comment is innocent, affectionate, but it has an unexpected impact. Like a trigger, something in Grace clicks off… and she can’t hold it together anymore. She turns away from Jack and tries to hide it, but suddenly she’s crying, the tears slipping down her cheeks faster than she can wipe them away.

She managed not to shed any the entirety of the funeral, and with one little comment, her resolve crumbles. Jack quickly recognizes her emotional shift, growing uncomfortable for a moment before doing his best to do damage control.

Jack: I’m sorry. Did I say something -- I didn’t mean to upset you. Grace: No, no. You didn’t. It’s not -- [ with an incredulous laugh ] All the chances to cry today, and this is what --

She huffs, wiping her cheeks with the heel of her palm. She takes a deep breath to try to compose herself, Jack waiting patiently and giving her space. Once she’s had a second to collect herself, she turns back slightly to face him, but keeps her gaze to the floor.

Grace: That was never me. I could never do that. The caring… that… instinct. I don’t have it. I didn’t. I’ve been a shitty mother, all the way through. I wasn’t one, really. Lucas knew that. [ with a shaky breath ] He’s always had to be the strong one. To be ready to be leaned on. Even today, he had to be here for me, and… I hate that. I hated that. He’s had to do so much on his own, do so much for me, and I never gave it back.

This confession feels more sorrowful than all the mourning. It’s a different kind of grief, far more palpable -- the loss of the functional family they never truly had. The ideal dynamic they would never achieve.

Grace: I couldn’t -- I could never give him what he needed. What he deserved. I mean, I didn’t -- [ choking on it ] I didn’t even want him. That didn’t change. And he knows that. I know he knows it. He deserved real parents, good ones, but instead he got -- and we were stuck with… and now it’s all just…

Now they’re here. Perhaps out of the woods, in some form, but just at the start of recovering. Barely one foot on the road to healing. Healing that feels impossible, with all this guilt and regret heavy on her shoulders.

Grace: I’m not a mother, but he’s a son. He didn’t get the choice not to be.

Jack sympathizes, even though he doesn’t personally understand the depth of it. He has his own complicated family dynamics, but nothing so complex as the Friars. But there is one difference he can speak to, that he tries to extend as a fraction of comfort.

Jack: I know what you mean. About… it’s hard to process. When my father passed away -- I mean, he was no Kenneth, but he was… a serious piece of work. Not to mention for most of my life, he was rarely around. Pros and cons to that, I suppose. But it’s okay for it to be complicated. It’s okay for it to take time.

Grace exhales, pressing her hands to her eyes. While she collects herself, Jack continues.

Jack: Maybe you weren’t the parent you thought you should be. Maybe you weren’t what Lucas wanted, or needed. You can’t change that now. That’s just… the fuck of it, life, and there isn’t anything we can do about it. But you did one thing right. Grace, skeptical: What? Jack: You were there. You stayed. Even if you weren’t at your best, or didn’t know what to do. Maybe it wasn’t… mother and son perfection, but you had each other. He knew you were there. That fact, to know that you’re not alone, is more important than you think.

Grace swallows a sob, pulling herself together and screwing her eyes shut. Trying to find her balance again, to let Jack’s words actually offer some comfort.

She’s not a mother, and she never will be. But she did what she could. She’s doing what she can now.

Jack: And you can’t beat yourself up over it forever. Life is too short -- surely today is reminder of that more than anything. It’s okay to forgive yourself, and stop holding it all against you. [ softly ] I know Lucas doesn’t anymore.

Jack would know, as he’s always gotten more from Lucas than she or Kenneth ever did. If he claims he’s forgiven her, that there’s no more anger, then he has to be telling the truth. Grace inhales a deep breath, then nods, offering Jack a watery smile.

Eric returns, gracefully ending the heavy moment and bringing some levity back into the space. Grace gently flicks the remaining tears away as Eric saunters back in, asking if they’re all good to head out.

Eric: Hopefully yes, because we’ll want to hit the road ASAP. It’s feeling like rain again.

INT. ZAY’S CAR - NIGHT

Charlie and Zay are doing just that, pulling up to the curb opposite Charlie’s building to drop him off.

It’s a process that feels hauntingly familiar. Zay behind the wheel, Charlie at ease in the passenger seat, thoughtful silence filling the empty space save for the nearly muted car radio. A routine they’ve danced what feels like a thousand times, with dozens of different conclusions.

And like usual, it feels wrong to let it end. Although Zay puts the car in park, and there’s nothing left to say but goodbye, neither of them make any move to get going. Zay glances at Charlie, then restlessly averts his gaze back out the dashboard window; Charlie keeps his gaze northward towards Central Park, the typical features of deep thought subtle on his face.

Zay: Well. Guess that’s that, then. Yet another insane development in this insane career path I’ve somehow convinced myself is a good idea. And with just about as much clarity as usual. Charlie: You’re one of the finalists. That’s good news. Zay: Yeah. I know. [ a beat ] I’m just like, do we really need to go through another round of waiting? I fucking hate waiting. Not to mention, again, it is so dramatic. Like, could they make this any more needlessly suspenseful? Charlie: Oh, come on. You know you kind of love it.

Charlie tilts his head to give him a look, seeing right through his bluster. Light smirk on his lips, tone effortlessly fond.

Because he knows him too well. Feels like he always has. Zay stares at him for a moment, out of practice with his easy banter but flushed with the realization of how much he missed it. For a moment, just a second, glancing at those lips…

Then he scoffs, shrugging and looking away.

Zay: Maybe. [ a beat, then defensive ] I’m just saying, I don’t remember when I agreed to getting edged by my fucking college.

Charlie’s smirk blooms into a grin. He shakes his head, amused, then lets it rest back against the headrest.

Quiet reigns again… at this rate, they might just sit there all night… Zay takes the opportunity while Charlie’s eyes are elsewhere to take him in, still surreal to see him in the passenger seat again. Different than before, but not for worse. New in necessary ways, but the same in every manner that matters.

And although every piece of him doesn’t want it to end, it must. The past is the past, and in the present, he doesn’t trust himself to be wise if he lets Charlie sit in his passenger seat much longer.

Zay: Well, anyway. Thanks for putting up with another shitshow. [ a beat ] I know you probably need to go, so -- Charlie: Do you wanna go for a walk?

For all that might be new, Charlie hasn’t lost his knack for subverting Zay’s expectations. The idea comes out of nowhere, chipper in that way Charlie gets sometimes where he follows his whims rather than common sense. It’s so random, Zay can’t help but stare in disbelief -- doubly so when Charlie turns his green eyes back on him.

Zay: Huh? Charlie: Do you wanna walk? I could go for a walk. Stretch my legs. Get some fresh air. Zay, bluntly: It’s almost eleven. And it’s supposed to rain. Charlie: And? [ with a twinkle in those eyes ] Don’t wait up.

If he wants to go, no big deal, but Charlie is taking a walk. He unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the car, leaving the agency to follow in Zay’s corner.

Zay continues to gape at him, watching him go. He scoffs again, shaking his head in bewildered wonder…

Zay: [ under his breath ] Fucking hell.

He unbuckles his own seatbelt, killing the engine and climbing out of the car.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Isa crashes onto their bed, makeup messy and hair messier. They’ve got a killer headache, not only caused by the alcohol, but the general stress of this hellish week. From this absolutely downer ending, to the even crazier start.

Though, suppose it wasn’t all hellish…

Too much to think about. They squeeze their eyes shut and rub their temples, trying to see if they can will it all away. The headache; the everything else.

No dice. It’s not going anywhere. After a moment, they let their hands fall onto the bed and open their eyes with a sigh. 

The emotions swirling around inside them aren’t going anywhere. They turn onto their side and stare at the space next to them. The space where, only a few nights ago and in a different bed, they could see Farkle laying next to them. See the rise and fall of his chest, hear his occasional soft snores (of course he’d be noisy even in rest)... reach out and run their hand through his hair, like it was always that easy…

Too much. Too much, too much, too much. They flop back onto their back and close their eyes again. It’s unsettling, feeling this much. It was rough when it was stuffed down, sure, but at least they could ignore it. They could pretend they had any control over anything, that they were stronger than their emotions. The tipsy, free-wheeling quality of their brain right now doesn’t help.

Don’t think about Farkle. Don’t think about Farkle. Don’t think…

Fuck it. It’s too late. Farkle isn’t going anywhere either. He’s engraved onto their mind, and no feeble distraction will erase him. The thoughts of him; the desire to touch him, to feel his body pressed against theirs. Isa fears nothing will ever replace that desire -- nothing will ever feel as good as when they were together. It’s scary, giving that much power and influence over to someone else.

But is it truly a bad thing?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Shameless” as performed by Camila Cabello || Performed by Isa De La Cruz

The guitar strums bring us into the performance, Isa opening their eyes and singing with a blank look as they stare up at the ceiling. They sit up and look back at the space beside them, where an imaginary Farkle once appeared to them and forced them to reconcile their emotions once before.

And now, he’s back again. Easy, knowing smile on his face. Just as comfortable as before, only updated in design to match how he is now -- no longer a remnant of the past, but a reminder of the very real present. A real and present desire; a real and pleasant danger.

In my dreams, I do anything I want to you My emotions are naked, they’re taking me out of my mind

Isa gets up and leaves the room, trying to get away from the mirage of Farkle before they can get too familiar with its presence.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

But he won’t just disappear. Isa passes by images of Farkle sitting on the couch eating pizza, loading the dishwasher in the kitchen, taking his shoes off at the door… he’s everywhere. As if he’s already embedded into their life -- the way they think they might want it. Isa hops out of the way when one of the Farkles walks past them, trying to keep out of his eyeline. 

They turn around and are faced with Farkle laughing, his eyes bright and smile wide. Isa freezes, unsure how to respond to the warmth the sight creates in them.

They rush to the door. 

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT

Isa stumbles out of the apartment building and onto the streets. They take a deep breath, trying to find their balance. One foot in front of the another, just like routine…

But before long, the obsession creeps back up on them. The faces of everybody walking by morph into Farkle’s, at first just a confusing glimpse -- then more consistent. Overwhelming, anxiety-driven thoughts bubble up whenever they see him, and whichever way they look, there he is, reminding them. Here, there, and everywhere.

It’s all there, now it’s real Now that you have me, do you want me still?

They slow their fast, frantic walking after a few more lines, though, the panic starting to calm as acceptance settles in. What are they really running from, actually? Do they want to flee this?

And I won’t erase it I need you more than I want to

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT

Isa reaches one of the shops that Farkle took them to when teaching them how to be rich back in senior year. They see the reflection of their younger selves in the window, wistful and reminiscent…

And when they look ahead of them again, present Farkle is back. He doesn’t look like an apparition, or a mutated version of a passerby. He’s just Farkle. The one they feel a magnetic pull towards, that’s reeling them in right now.

Distance, inches in between us I want you to give in, I want you to give in, oh

The one they know -- the one they know they love.

Isa looks up at Farkle in defiance, challenging him to take the next step, as he did to them. But he remains stalwart, teasingly resilient. Bizarrely put together these days when Isa has always relied on him being equally unhinged.

Weakness, tension in between us I just wanna give in…

Unable to take the tension anymore, Isa surrenders. They stand up on their tiptoes and pull Farkle down to meet their lips. 

And I don’t care if I’m forgiven

They kiss with just as much passion and intensity as their first, the camera rotating around to capture it. It picks up speed as it goes, dizzying, mirroring the whirlwind effect of finally breaking that tension…

When they break apart, for a moment, they just look at each other. Then Farkle grins.

Isa grabs Farkle’s hand, dragging him along and running with him. Keeping stride together this time, rather than running in opposite directions. While Farkle maintains direction, looking ahead at where they’re racing, Isa keeps getting distracted and letting their gaze drift back to him instead.

Right now I’m shameless Screamin’ my lungs out for ya

The faster everything seems to move, the more Isa struggles to keep up. They keep tripping up as they dodge the people around them, while Farkle remains focused on moving forward. To avoid a complete wipeout, Isa slows down --

And Farkle’s hand slips out of theirs. He looks back, confused, but the crowd of people on the streets sweep him away. Isa screams after him, left behind in the chaos, their hand still outstretched. 

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

In a blink, we’re back in their bedroom, Isa still sitting on their bed. Looking at where Farkle should be, their hand instinctively outstretched. They blink, stunned, unable to hold back the tears that slip past their best defenses.

They have him, but they could lose him again. It could be all too easy.

Unless they say the things they need to say. What Farkle needs to know.

Upset, overwhelmed, and confused, Isa does the only thing that makes sense in that moment. The only thing their addled brain can think to do.

They get out their phone.

EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Maria” as performed by Canadian Brass || Instrumental

The West Side Story orchestra from earlier echoes as an underscore as the scene progresses, floating over the peaceful evening. Zay and Charlie meander their way back down the street towards his building, laughter bubbling between the two of them as they wrap up whatever conversation they were having on their late-night traipse through Central Park. Silly and insane as the suggestion was, it seems to have loosened them up. A sensation Zay can appreciate, given how tense the entire night has been. 

Even in spite of the weather. As they’ve been walking, it’s started to mist, the gentle warning of a promised storm.

They arrive a few feet away from his front steps, slowing to a stop with their hands in their pockets. Just a couple of pals, standing in their nice dress wear in the middle of a sidewalk after eleven. Classic.

Charlie: Well, thanks for the ride. Or walking me home, technically, I guess. Zay: Only because you’re a basket case. Seriously, when did you pick up this funky little habit of dancing around in the rain? How do you not have like, chronic pneumonia?

Charlie shrugs. Guilty as charged.

Charlie: It’s just a drizzle. Zay: Anyway, I wasn’t going to let you wander around the park at night by yourself. For real, what happened to the guy who was terrified of taking the subway by himself at like six at night? Is that paranoid, self-preserving man in the room with us?

At that, Charlie snorts.

Charlie: I think we should be glad “that guy” stopped being afraid of everything that moved. [ with another shrug ] I guess he grew up.

Yeah… yeah, he did, didn’t he? That’s been the feeling all night, this strange echo haunting them. It’s not mournful, though, or unsettling. It’s just… different. Different, but the same. A ghost that never died; a living memory.

Whichever time feels more prominent, it doesn’t make it any easier for Zay to look away from him. Charlie has to break the spell, clearing his throat and reiterating his gratitude for the favor.

Zay: It’s the least I could do, given everything I’ve dragged you along to in the last month. All of that mutual support bullshit. Charlie: Ah, right. The foundation of any good dancer.

Zay offers a shrug of his own, going for breezy.

 Zay: What are friends for?

Yes… friends… right, right. As if to accent the point, thunder rumbles above them in the distance, signaling that rain is coming any minute now. It’s probably time to say goodbye, share their goodnights, before the downpour.

Still, neither of them move.

Charlie: You never finished telling me about that, by the way. Zay: About what? Charlie: Your audition speech. Successful audition speech, might I add. Zay: Oh, yeah. Well… you know. I just made something up. Talked out of my ass, like I always do. Charlie: [ not buying it ] Well, even if that’s the case, it worked. Finalist.

For now. Still one more hill to climb before he knows where he’ll be… Charlie still assumes there must be some deeper well of inspiration that Zay was pulling from, because he highly doubts he just pulled something that meaningful out of nowhere.

Charlie: You act like you don’t think about this kind of stuff that deeply -- Zay: Not everyone is like you. Charlie: No one is, I’m aware. I have problems. But you have your moments. Especially when it’s about the stuff that matters -- when it really counts.

Charlie would know -- he was on the receiving end of plenty of his most thoughtful moments. Zay can’t brush him off so easily.

For a fleeting moment, Zay debates telling the truth. Confessing exactly what it was that made his whole world’s foundation so simple to define; who taught him the living, breathing definition of unconditional support in the first place. How he’s looking right at him, feeling all the same things that struck him like lighting on the stage in the middle of his post-audition interview.

But that’s not how things are. They’ve grown up; time has marched on without him.

So he swallows the longing and offers the best alternative he can scrounge together.

Zay: I’m just… really trying to appreciate the people I’m lucky to have in my life. I know I wouldn’t be where I am today without them.

Not the whole story, but a good one. A half-truth. The eye contact between them feels loaded, even if neither of them will put it into words.

Charlie: Yeah. Yeah… me too.

It’s like a strange game of chicken. Wondering which one of them might break first -- if either of them even realize they’re playing.

They might just stand there and stare at each other forever, but the first drop of rain disrupts the static and brings them back to reality. It’s not really falling yet, but any minute now…

Charlie blinks up at the sky then offers Zay a smile, reluctantly claiming he should get inside. Spare him the bad weather.

Zay: Yeah, for sure. Thanks again for coming. Charlie: Of course. Any time.

There’s no doubt he means it. Zay mirrors his smile, restless on his feet. Gripped with the sense that it’s wrong to just leave it like that, that as best friends they surely could exchange something more than a stilted peace out.

So he offers a hand, at least extending an offer of something more. Charlie laughs awkwardly and takes it, turning it into something more like a high-five.

And then it’s a hug. Neither one could say who started it, or how it became one, but once they drift even incrementally in that direction they fall together like dominos. Their bodies just naturally come together, responding to their own personal magnetism.

And though the hug starts casual, friendly, it lingers far too long to be just that. While they’re so close, wrapped in a warm embrace so achingly familiar yet damningly rare, there’s no reason to pretend. Even though they can’t see it, the perfect place to hide in each other’s shoulders, we can see it plain as day. The way their expressions shift, muscles relaxing and nerves tingling all at once. Both of them closing their eyes and letting it linger, both excusing it just enough to absorb whatever they can get.

When they finally start to pull back, they don’t get very far. For a brief, torturous second, they stop a little too close for casual comfort, noses nearly brushing. Only centimeters apart, once again finding themselves trapped in an all too familiar dance…

Until the universe intervenes. The rain becomes difficult to ignore, sprinkling their jackets as it starts to fall in consistent drops. They pull apart fully as Zay cusses under his breath, both of them glancing up at the rain as if that’ll make it go away.

It doesn’t. The rain continues on undeterred, so Charlie clears his throat.

Charlie: Okay, well. I’ll let you go. Zay: Right. Thanks again. Charlie: Yeah. [ starting to walk away ] See you later. Zay: Yep. For sure.

Charlie smiles, letting that promise be his final offering as he turns and heads up the steps to his building. Zay watches him go, in no rush to get back to his car in spite of how his usual instincts would have him bolting at the first drop of rain. He isn’t sure what he’s waiting for.

Well, that part of Zay is stupid, whatever it is. It can’t seem to get the memo from reality. The past is the past -- this is how things are now. Time moved on. He has to be okay with that. Both of them do.

Charlie makes it to his front door, glancing back over his shoulder one more time. When he sees Zay is still there, he smiles brighter, a hint of shyness back in his features.

Then he disappears into the lobby, leaving Zay behind.

Once he’s gone, there’s truly no reason to stand there holding his breath. Zay manages to convince himself to turn around, stuffing his hands back in his pockets and dragging his feet back to the car. 

The night is over. This is over. Time to go…

Only after a few more steps, Zay stops.

What is he doing? Why the hell is he walking away, putting his hands up in surrender like he has no choice? This isn’t going to change; he already tried that idea. He knows how he feels -- he hasn’t stopped feeling this way since they truly became friends.

He’s in love with Charlie. He loves him, but Charlie isn’t going to know that if he keeps walking away. He isn’t going to know how much he wants him -- that he’s spending every second they’re together holding himself by a thread wishing he could break the rules -- if he continues to hold his breath and hold his tongue and wait for the universe to make it happen for him.

Maybe he’ll miss his chance; maybe Charlie won’t feel the same way. That’s life. At least he’ll have given it his all. At least he’ll have tried.

Zay said he was done waiting. So what the hell is he doing?

Seized with conviction, heart pounding, Zay changes direction. He spins back around, fully intent to march up the steps to Charlie’s building and chase after him.

It’s not necessary. Because at the same moment he whips around, Charlie returns, stepping back out into the night. He scans the sidewalk, assuming he’ll have to look hard, but it only takes him a second to spot Zay again. He didn’t go far.

He isn’t going anywhere.

For an eternal second, frozen in time, they lock eyes. Seeing and being seen, speaking the same language with absolutely no words at all.

Zay starts back up the sidewalk. Charlie descends the steps.

Finally, they meet in the middle. They come back together, in the middle of the rain, and after one last moment of before…

They kiss. With equal agency, equal desire, and no hesitation. Back in sync, a perfectly crafted pas de deux.

Once they break to catch their breath, they stay close, foreheads pressed together and eyes closed. Soaking up the moment like the downpour, submerging in the allure of one another, already more than certain they’re going to dive in for another one.

But first, Charlie has a quick question.

Charlie, breathless: Does this mean you still like me? Zay: Fucking hell, Charlie.

He lets his next kiss answer the question for him, leaving no room for confusion. Charlie returns it, unable to hold back his grin, pulling Zay in closer.

The next time they pull apart, they end up falling into a playful, instinctive sway, because it’s impossible not to dance when their bodies come together.

That’s how it’s supposed to be.

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

Farkle returns home after his evening performance, looking about ready to crash. He checks his phone before he goes to change, pausing when he sees he’s got a missed call and new voicemail. Given it’s from Isa, and it’s late, he figures something must have happened.

When he presses play and starts to listen, though, it’s not at all what he expects.

Isa: [ through voicemail ] Um… hey. It’s Isa. Sorry to call so late -- though I guess it’s not that late for you. Yet. Fucking time zones. I just, um --

The sound is muffled as Isa presumably adjusts, but Farkle has already picked up a few tells. Their voice is slurring slightly, and also wobbly, which either means they’re tipsy, or crying. Or both. And from the hesitation in their delivery, they’re clearly processing a lot and worried about how it’s going to come out.

A lot like how rejection sounds. Farkle braces himself, feeling his stomach drop. But he braves listening on.

Isa: It has been such a fucking… it’s a shitshow, and it’s a lot. Everything has been a lot. The funeral was so… and I’m just feeling really… but I wanted to talk to you. I really, really need to talk to you. Because if I don’t tell you, then you’ll never know, and then everything is going to get all messy and go to shit. I don’t want this to go to shit. So -- fuck -- 

Here it comes. Farkle closes his eyes.

Isa: I love you.

Hold. The. Fuck. Up.

Farkle’s eyes fly open, wide with surprise.

Isa: Oh my God, that’s insane. But -- fuck, but it’s true. It’s so damn true. Farkle, I love you. And that is the most terrifying shit ever, like I am scared shitless about it, but I also can’t… not. Believe me, I’ve tried. And after what we did the other night, when that just like, confirmed everything, now it’s like --

Cautiously, Farkle settles onto his bed, moving in slow motion. Like if he makes any sudden movements, this version of reality will shatter, and he’ll wake up from whatever deeply vivid dream he’s been having.

Isa: I just… really fucking miss you. Even though I just saw you. And I feel like that all the time, like all the damn time. Which is how I know, because I don’t like anyone else that much to want to be with them all the fucking time. I just wished you were here, and then it got all overwhelming in my head, but… [ with a deep breath ] That’s the fuck of it all. I love you. I’m in love with you. So, uh… yeah. Okay, I’m ending this before I make it any worse. See you soon. Bye.

The call ends abruptly, no graceful landing. But boy, did it make its impact. Farkle is dumbstruck, not sure if what he just heard is actually even real.

Someone loves him. Someone is actually in love with him. Isa De La Cruz, of all people, just told him that they love him.

Compulsively, Farkle goes back and starts the voicemail over. Needing to confirm it happened; wanting to hear it said all over again.

Isa: [ through voicemail ] Um… hey. It’s Isa. 

Finally, a breathless smile blossoms onto Farkle’s face. He falls onto his back and hides his face under his arms, letting Isa’s voice continue to play and assert their affections all over again.

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - NIGHT

Meanwhile, Yindra isn’t as giddy. Although the situation with Aleena worked out all right, something is still nagging at her. She’s contemplative as she sits on her bed and flips through her songwriting notebook.

After another minute, it seems to hit her. She opens her phone and digs through her email to find a contact sheet, then enters a new phone number into the call app.

Wrestling up her courage, she hits dial.

INT. BAR - NIGHT

The first shift of the evening is kicking off at a local, trendy bar. Ronica is behind the counter, prepping for a busy night, when her phone buzzes in her pocket. She checks the screen and doesn’t recognize the number, shrugging it off and placing it on the countertop to see if it’ll go to voicemail.

It does. She swipes it open to listen and grows intrigued. Stepping around the counter, she tells her coworker she’ll be back in a second and heads outside, dialing the callback number.

EXT. BAR - NIGHT

Yindra picks up the phone as Ronica steps out into the brisk Los Angeles evening, the conversation intercut between the two of them.

Yindra: Hello? Ronica: Hey. It’s Ronica. You called? Yindra: Yeah. Yeah, hi. [ a beat ] It’s Yindra. From the girl group thing. Ronica: I know. You said so in your voicemail. Yindra: Oh… right. Yeah.

Right then. Ronica glances over her shoulder towards the bar, then crosses her arms.

Ronica: So, is there a reason you wanted to talk to me, or? Yindra: Um, yeah. Sorry to call out of the blue -- I was thinking I’d send a text, but I felt like this would be better to say in person. Or like, vocally. Not through text, where you can’t get the tone right. Ronica: Okay… Yindra: I just wanted to say that I’m like, sorry. For how -- for how weird I’ve been at the auditions. Ronica: You were being weird? Yindra: I’m not normally like -- usually I’m not as competitive as I’ve been acting. Or… cold. Just being all like I’ve got a stick up my ass. I’m not that kind of person. Especially not towards people who are just as talented as me. I didn’t want you to think I was like, a diva or whatever.

Ronica listens attentively, somewhat surprised Yindra is bothering to clarify.

Ronica: Noted. But I don’t see how my opinion of you should matter all that much. Competition is what they want from us, you know. Yindra: I know. I know that’s what they want, and that’s kind of what’s grinding my gears about it all. If we -- if I -- get this shot, I don’t want to go into it with all this aged ground beef. You know what I mean? I don’t want to be the reason the group starts off on the wrong foot, or there’s some drama. I’d be trying to make it a sisterhood, not a bloodbath. Ronica, amused: Sometimes, that’s one in the same. But I hear you. Yindra: I want to be known for the opposite. For being someone you wanna work with. I don’t want to start my career, however long or short it may be, feeling the need to cut a sister down. [ a beat ] So, yeah. That’s all I wanted to say. I respect you, you’ve got hella pipes, and I hope shit works out for you.

Ronica’s been in this business for a bit, and even she’s cracking a smile. There’s something refreshing about Yindra’s authenticity, her desire to do things right, no matter how naive it may feel.

Ronica: Well, thanks. I appreciate it. And ditto.

Yindra smiles too, finally relaxing. Ronica claims she has to go back to work, but she wishes Yindra luck. Hopefully both of them will make the cut, but if not, it’s been nice getting to see her talent even if only briefly. Yindra sincerely returns the compliment.

Once they hang up, Yindra sighs, feeling a thousand times lighter.

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

It’s early morning now, and based on the state of his bedroom, it appears Zay and Charlie have been quite busy. Whatever they were up to, the frenetic energy has passed, a serene calm permeating the space.

For now, Zay is on his own, half-undressed and reclined back against the headboard. He’s idly gazing around the room, getting a real look. It’s the first time he’s been in Charlie’s new bedroom -- the first time he’s been in a room Charlie was free to actually make his own. That feels distinctly like him, rather than a presentation or collage of what he’s supposed to appear to be.

And God, does it feel so, so good. Zay smiles to himself, inhaling deeply and releasing a content exhale.

To his pleasure, Charlie doesn’t leave him alone for long. He returns moments later, equally as stripped down (no longer “dressed,” that’s for sure) and carrying a glass of water. He notices Zay’s dreamy expression, automatically matching his grin.

Charlie: What are you smiling about?

What a dumb question. As if you don’t know, Charlie… but Zay isn’t going to just hand him the satisfaction of hearing the answer anyway. He shrugs, theatrically gazing around the room again.

Zay: Me? Nothing… nah, I was just thinking how nerdy this room is. Big AND energy in here. You remember what that means, right?

Oh, please… Charlie rolls his eyes, but damn, if he can’t stop smiling. He literally can’t help himself. Not when Zay is teasing him like that again, when he’s in his bed and in his space and everything feels like it’s back where it belongs.

Well, almost. He’s not nearly close enough. Charlie shuts the door and climbs onto the bed to join Zay, kneeling opposite him and handing him the water. Better.

Charlie: I remember, yes. Zay: It’s acute nerd disorder. Just in case you forgot. Charlie: Drink your water, bastard.

He’s pretty sure he needs it, after the last couple hours. Zay smirks but obliges, taking a long sip of the water. Charlie simply watches him for a long moment, taking in the view, then waits for him to place the glass on the nightstand before speaking again.

Charlie: Are you done teasing me now? Because -- Zay: Am I done? Doing the very thing that gives purpose to my being, that sends serotonin through my veins? Charlie: Okay, okay -- Zay: Am I done teasing Charles John Paul Gardner? That’s offensive. The answer is never. And you should be so lucky. I will never be done. We will never be done.

Ain’t that the truth, on so many levels. Charlie keeps laughing, trying to redirect, but it’s so hard when everything feels so light and Zay is so good at what he does.

Finally, he manages though. He leans forward and presses a hand to Zay’s mouth just long enough to get him to shut up so he can get his attention.

Charlie: Because if you could give me like five seconds, there’s something I really need to say to you.

All right, attention earned. Zay backs down, curious and the slightest bit apprehensive.

Zay: Oh, yeah?

Charlie nods, waiting a moment to confirm Zay is actually going to be quiet before he braves opening his mouth again. He scoots forward a bit and steals another good long look at him, taking it all in -- a light brush of his thighs, the curve of his collarbone, the shine in his brown eyes. Committing it all to memory, this one brief moment of bliss, just in case it all goes wrong or the universe collapses the instant he speaks. 

For one last second, holding Zay’s gaze and cupping his face in his hands, Charlie hesitates. Because he’s thought about it for so long, stood on the precipice of this moment so many times, he isn’t wholly convinced the words will come out no matter how badly and how ready he is to say them.

But the worries are unfounded. They come out soft, sure, delicate only because of their deep sincerity.

When Charlie sets his truth free, this time, there’s nothing holding it back.

Charlie: I love you.

And Zay hears it. He hears it crystal clear, feels it in every nerve in his body, releasing every lingering doubt and tension like a key finally clicking into place. Even though he already knew -- he knew the whole time, always had faith, even with no words at all.

But there’s nothing quite like hearing it said. No barriers, no pretensions, just him and Charlie and his touch reverent on his face.

Charlie: I loved you then. The whole time. I love you now. And the truth is, I cannot imagine any version of reality where I don’t.

Okay, he came to say it, and man, did he deliver. Zay tries to stay cool, but he can feel his throat getting thick. Not that Charlie would remotely care if he got emotional -- he’d probably do the same, if the roles were reversed. Given how long he’s been waiting, it might be more concerning if he felt nothing.

But he does. It feels like heaven -- it’s everything.

So Zay keeps it simple, avoiding the chance to embarrass himself. He reaches forward and touches the chain around Charlie’s neck, no longer tucked away beneath his shirt… fingering his class ring dangling on the end.

Zay: Yeah?

Charlie nods, smile light and effortlessly fond.

Charlie: Yeah. [ brightening ] And you better get used to it, because now I am gonna say it all the time.

Zay scoffs a laugh, raising his eyebrows.

Zay: Oh, yeah -- Charlie: Mhm. [ nodding ] I love you.

He pulls him closer and kisses his cheek. Then he says it again, before pressing a brisk kiss to his other cheek. Then he’s peppering his face with kisses all over, gleefully telling him over and over exactly how he feels. Zay cracks up, playfully wrestling with him and telling him to stop even though there is absolutely nowhere and nothing he’d rather be than in this moment.

Charlie obeys the joking directive though, backing off in their fit of giggles just so he can get another good look at him. To really take it all in -- the closeness, the relief, the sense of being so, so happy.

And he got here by himself, put in the hard work, sweat, and tears to make it to this point… but it all started because of one unbelievable, one-of-a-kind man. Still holding his face, Charlie shakes his head lightly, looking at Zay with all the devotion one soul can hold.

Charlie, softly: [ with awe ] Isaiah Babineaux.

He is going to be the death of Zay -- but for all the best reasons this time.

Zay takes his cross necklace again and pulls him in his direction, impatiently stealing a kiss. It melts into another one, languid and indulgent, thoroughly enjoying the reward of having made it back to each other.

That is, until Zay’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. He’s content to ignore it -- whoever is texting him in the middle of the night can surely wait until morning -- but it buzzes again and demands attention.

Charlie: Are you gonna check that? Zay: Fuck no.

Zay accents the point with another kiss, clumsy with Charlie’s laughter. He allows it for a moment longer before the phone buzzes again, Charlie pulling apart first this time as Zay groans in annoyance.

Zay: It is like one in the morning, who the hell -- Charlie: Zay, just check it. It’s fine. [ holding his gaze ] I’m not going anywhere.

He means it. Zay examines him, Charlie’s thumb stroking his jaw, not sure if he has the willpower to let him go even for a second… but he relents with a sigh, grumbling as he reaches to grab his phone. Charlie backs off temporarily to give him a second, running a hand through his messy hair.

The texts are innocuous -- just Riley and Yindra both congratulating him for the finalist win -- but that’s not what catches his attention. He has a missed call from about an hour ago, and a voicemail from the same number. Expecting spam, he quickly swipes to the message and lifts the phone to his ear, hoping for a quick delete so he can get back to what’s really important.

But it’s not a spam call. Whatever it is on the other end, it gets Zay’s attention fast. He grows serious, then frowns slightly as he listens more deeply, instinctively climbing to his feet and pacing a few steps. Charlie watches him, curious and slightly concerned based on his shift in demeanor.

When the voicemail concludes, Zay’s silent, letting whatever he heard sink in. Charlie waits for him to meet his eyes, raising his eyebrows. What’s up?

Zay: You remember I -- I went on all those auditions? [ off his nod ] That was one of the producers of Jagged Little Pill. They liked me.

Charlie’s eyes widen. Holy smokes. He starts to open his mouth to congratulate him, to question why the hell Zay seems remotely hesitant when that sounds like amazing news -- but Zay beats him to it.

Zay: They want me to join the tour.

Tour. As in, touring production.

As in, not in New York.

It’s an amazing offer and opportunity, but it means leaving and going who knows where -- away from here. Away from him.

Charlie processes that information, expression dimming slightly to match Zay’s as they both absorb what exactly that means.

So what the hell is he -- are they -- going to do now?

INT. NYU - HILL’S OFFICE - DAY

A couple of days later, PROFESSOR HILL is catching up on work in between classes. She hardly looks up when there’s a light knock on her door.

Hill: Office hours aren’t until 4PM. Riley: I know. I thought you might make an exception.

Hill lifts her head, demeanor shifting when she recognizes it’s Riley. She settles back in her office chair.

Hill: Ah, Riley. Come on in. And shut the door, please.

Riley does so, following her directives and arriving in front of her desk. She stays standing, clasping her hands together in front of her and calmly awaiting more.

Hill finishes up her work and directs her attention to Riley, striking a careful balance between compassionate professor and frustrated director.

Hill: I’m sorry something happened at the last show. Did everything turn out all right? Riley: It did. Thank you. Hill: That’s good. I’m glad it wasn’t something more serious.

Not that Riley has provided remotely any details beyond “family emergency.” With that out of the way, and confirmation that she’s not about to be insensitive, the director side takes over.

Hill: You do realize how unprofessional it was to step out at the last-minute, with no warning and no direct communication. To say I was surprised to see Imogen take the stage instead of you and only get clarity from Evan during intermission would be an understatement. Riley: I understand it can be taken that way, yes. I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to check in with you before it happened. But in all fairness, I do think that sort of goes hand-in-hand with the term “emergency.”

Despite her emotional mistreatment, boy did Topanga prepare Riley well for a moment such as this. Although Hill is clearly disappointed and irritated with her behavior, Riley remains level-headed, polite, and grounded in her opinion. She isn’t going to be guilt-tripped or swayed into submission here. In some ways, it’s a testament to how much she’s grown as an individual.

Hill: I suppose so. But I’ve had peers who went on even under such circumstances. I’ve had friends who took to the stage even when they felt on the brink of collapse. The show must go on. Riley: Yeah, I have a friend who was like that too. He tore his tendon and almost ended his career at eighteen. Thankfully, he’s better about that now. Hill: I respect that you made a choice, what you felt was best in the moment. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a disappointment. And it does effect my perception of you, and how seriously you take this work. A true artist wouldn’t let such things get in the way of their obligation to perform. Riley: I understand that definition of “artist” exists, yes. I’m not sure I subscribe to it myself.

They’ll have to agree to disagree. If this changes how Professor Hill views her, or her prospects in the future in Tisch productions, so be it. She doesn’t regret the choice she made -- and for all she knows, it’s just as likely she won’t be here next year for any of it to matter.

So Hill’s disappointment clearly means little. She isn’t going to make her change her mind.

Hill, curtly: Well, lucky for everyone, the production is almost over. So soon you’ll have the freedom to direct your energies elsewhere, since you don’t seem too committed to this now.

Riley takes the dig, not commenting further. She thanks Professor Hill for her time and states she’ll see her at the next call time for one of their last performances, then graciously takes her leave.

INT. NYU - TISCH SCHOOL OF THE ARTS - DAY

Riley emerges from the office and shuts the door behind her, releasing an exhale. She held her ground, without reservation, but that doesn’t mean it was easy. People-pleasing instincts are hard to shake.

As she starts to head down the hall, who should she run into but Evan. He greets her cheerfully, and she returns it. When she mentions she’s just heading to her next class across campus, Evan claims he’s also heading out of the building, so he’ll walk with her.

They chat as they go, Riley making sure to apologize once more for catching him off-guard the other night.

Riley: It wasn’t at all my intention to throw everyone off, least of all you. I hope everything went smoothly on stage. Evan: We held it together, yeah. Gotta admit, I don’t think Imogen and I have the same chemistry you and I do, but such is the gamble of understudies. [ a beat ] She doesn’t hold a candle to your Molly.

That’s sweet, if a bit shady to Imogen. Riley smiles lightly, elbowing him. After a beat, Evan continues.

Evan: How about you? With how fast you ran out -- I mean, did everything turn out okay? Riley: It did. As well as it could, given the circumstances. Either way, I’m glad I was able to be there. I could tell it really helped Lucas.

Right… they push through the doors --

EXT. NYU - CAMPUS - DAY

Riley gets halfway through saying a chipper goodbye when Evan interjects, surprising her with another question.

Evan: And you’re okay too, right? Riley: Me? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Evan: Okay. I just -- you left really suddenly that night. You seemed kind of frantic. It didn’t seem like… I mean, don’t you think it’s a little weird of Lucas to expect you to just drop everything? Stuff you think is important, because he wants you somewhere else?

Riley clams up slightly, suddenly sensing she needs to tread cautiously. Even so, she remains impressively calm on the outside.

Riley: Lucas didn’t expect me to do anything. I chose to go. Evan: Okay. Riley: In fact, if you must know, he wanted me to stay here. He wouldn’t have expected me to be there at all. He told me so. Evan: Okay. I’m glad to hear that. Riley: It was my decision to leave. Lucas had no influence over it. It was my call. And I don’t regret the choice I made.

Sorry if that feels inconsiderate, or unprofessional, but it’s the truth. Evan can tell he’s treading close to a nerve, and doesn’t want to upset her, but somehow all of that just makes him even more uncertain. He’s never been in a serious relationship, so he wouldn’t know, but is it normal to get this defensive over a simple question?

Evan: I only wanted to make sure you were okay. You can tell me if you aren’t, at any time. You know?

Again, sweet, but so, so misplaced. Riley offers him a smile, but it’s tight. She holds his gaze, though, not backing down or shying away from her next words.

Riley: I am good, Evan. Never better, actually. So you can save your concern. I’m fine.

And you can mind your own business. Evan raises his hands in surrender, taking her at her word. He said his piece, put himself out there as a lifeline, and that’s all he can do.

Riley isn’t remotely interested in being rescued, though. She doesn’t need it. She tells Evan she’ll see him around and descends the steps onto the main sidewalk, striding off to her next class. Evan watches her go, certain that didn’t go how he wanted it, but not sure if it could’ve gone any better.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - HR OFFICE - DAY

Josh is facing a similar uncomfortable conversation, sitting opposite a lead HR REPRESENTATIVE with Justin in a chair to his right. They’re addressing the “incident” from earlier, making sure the air is cleared before everyone gets back to work. Josh is slouched low in his seat, obviously disdainful of being there going through the motions and absolutely unable to look at Justin next to him.

Justin, on the other hand, is being charming as ever. Cracking jokes, assuring HR he has no issue with Josh, doesn’t plan to raise this issue any higher. They’ve talked it out, Josh is getting his talking to, and he’s got access to additional care if he needs it. Far as he sees it, that’s all that’s needed.

Justin: I don’t know about you fellas, but I for one am just ready to put this all behind us and get back to making some sweet, sweet music. Am I right, Joshie?

Josh has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t know how he ever found his boss likable. He can barely stomach his nonchalant attitude, as if everything is fine. As if he did nothing wrong.

Because as far as most people know, he didn’t. That’s the beauty of how this enabling, self-shielding industry operates. And that function is clearly alive and well at Global Beat, where Justin has comfortably and effectively entrenched himself into the machinery.

Justin may be ready to move on, but the HR representative has more words of warning for Josh. He cautions that while they can let one mishap like this slide, due to his long-standing good reputation within the company, they cannot overlook an incident like this again. Such volatile behavior and violence is not how Global Beat rolls, and they want to employ people who hold the high company values and standards that they do.

HR Rep: So perhaps you should think long and hard about whether you’re the right fit for Global Beat.

Not to worry, HR. That’s all Josh has been thinking about for days. Increasingly, the more he sits here and fights the urge to either implode on himself or tear everything around him to shreds, he has the sinking suspicion he knows what the answer is going to be.

They don’t share the same values. Not at all. Justin grinning in the seat next to him proves it.

Josh: Yeah. I think I should.

With that, they’re dismissed. Justin skips his way out first, telling Josh he’ll catch him back at the offices.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - HALLWAY - DAY

Josh is in no hurry to follow -- wondering if he even should at all. He’s approached his metaphorical line in the sand, and now he has to decide which side he wants to be on.

What is all of this for, really? What does he really stand for? Has any of it been worth it?

Is it worth his soul?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Come Hang Out” as performed by AJR || Performed by Josh Matthews

The camera slows as the synth kicks up, the voices of Josh’s friends echoing as the backing vocal as the song begins. He looks down the hall towards where Justin is going, back to the way things have always been. Entrenched in the status quo.

On the first utterance of the end of the opening chorus, Josh spins away and heads in the opposite direction, buying himself more time.

I’ll be there next time, I’ll be there next time

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - HALLWAYS - DAY

Josh launches into the first verse as he makes his way through the maze of the upper echelons of the company, walking amidst the glitz of certified platinum records, executive offices, and framed posters of successful acts under their record label.

All the things Josh was so certain he wanted, that he has been dreaming about since he was a kid messing with MP3s on his chunky desktop computer in Philly. Part of the reason he’s ended up where he is now, reflecting on all the missed social scenes and insatiable creative ambition.

All of my life I have been starving Not for a dinner with friends, more of a starving artist

As he makes it to the end of the hall and almost turns the corner, he finds many of his friends and loved ones waiting for him on the other side -- Andrew, JASMINE, AMY MATTHEWS and ALAN MATTHEWS. Imploring him to take a break, to gain some perspective through the chorus.

But he wasn’t ready to hear it. Not quite yet. So he stammers out the excuse that bookends the chorus and escapes again, heading down the stairs --

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - HALLWAYS - DAY

Josh takes temporary refuge in the floor below, the financial offices of the label. On his right is a wall of tall windows, showing him the gilded view of Hollywood around him. Where he always thought he was destined to be, meant to thrive.

Even in the sunny glow of such a scene, this is where the willful delusion starts to wear thin. Josh starts to confront the realities that have been casting a shadow over him the entire time he’s worked at Global Beat. The reveal about Justin is a huge factor, yes, but there were always issues.

Last album sales could’ve been higher Maybe that’s why I haven’t seen friends in a while

He’s overworked, and underpaid. He’s been a loyal assistant and junior producer for years, yet hasn’t found any upward mobility. He has to sacrifice so much creativity for profit, for whatever “trend” is clicking this month. His bosses are happy to puff him up, but they won’t put him out there.

All the hours and creative energy spent, often for nothing.

He gets reminded of this strongly enough when the chorus comes again and he reaches the end of this corridor, where some recently certified big hits are listed on the wall. Sure enough, “LolliPop” is there -- credited to everyone but him.

I’ll be there next time, I’ll be there next time…

But will he?

Josh turns away from it, hitting the stairs again as the chorus repeats.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - STAIRWELL - DAY

He races down the stairs in slow motion through the second repetition of the chorus, not sure where he’s going to stop. Is he going to brave going back to his floor, going back to before and swallowing the cognitive dissonance -- or is he going to keep walking right out the door?

For now, he isn’t quite there. Not yet. He stops on his usual floor and pushes through the door --

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - HALLWAY - DAY

Taking the long way back to the offices, weaving through the recording studios as we ease into the bridge. The music quiets, and Josh does his best to hold his emotion together as he takes the death march back towards Justin and Melissa…

Until he spots something that makes him stop in his tracks. He doubles back towards the open studio door he just passed, eyes wide.

It’s not the usual Global Beat digs on the other side of the doorway. Instead, he’s seeing the past -- the confined, cozy but stifling interior of his childhood bedroom in Philly. At the desk opposite the door, a fresher, younger JOSH MATTHEWS (17) is at his electric keyboard, playing the keys of the bridge as he painstakingly and obsessively works on building some of his first amateur tracks. Messy dark hair still stuffed under a beanie, lithe frame still compulsively bent over his keyboards (piano and laptop), cheaper, more affordable headset over his ears. Just as hyper-focused as ever, probably skipping on dinner to get this last detail right.

But he’s happy. He’s energized, creatively stimulated, free to follow his dreams and trust his instincts. The thing motivating him to spend all that time at the keys isn’t money, or credit, or fame. It’s passion, pure and simple, a deep and unwavering love for music -- what brought Josh out here to chase this dream in the first place.

Josh stares at his former self, tearing up, finally asking himself the question he should’ve been asking this whole time. Finally willing to face it, to accept whatever the truth may be.

Should I go for more clicks this year, Or should I follow the click in my ear?

Should he do whatever it takes to climb to the top, no matter who gets hurt in the process or what he leaves behind -- or should he trust his gut? Should he create trash, derivative pop drivel, just to get those few extra viral streams -- or should he trust his ear? Should he give up his artistic drive, his integrity, his very sense of right and wrong, just to stay in good with a system that may never see him anyway -- or should he trust his heart? 

As he repeats the bridge lyric one more time, his former self looks over his shoulder at him… then smiles at him. Trusting him completely with his future.

Josh knows. He knows the answer. He knows what he needs to do.

He pushes away from the studio as the bridge comes to its abrupt end, thrusting us into the final chorus --

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

And showing Josh’s last march through Global Beat. He returns to his desk and gathers his things -- signs off and shuts down his computer; boxes up his belongings; takes down his mementos.

He leaves nothing behind, because he’s never coming back.

From their offices, Melissa and Justin watch him, obviously displeased he’s leaving their safe control. Brian and Phelps watch as well from the water cooler with the other assistants, more sympathetic and clearly wishing he didn’t have to go.

Josh doesn’t pay them any attention. He doesn’t let their presence sway him, sticking to his instincts. He makes his final exit towards the elevator lobby with his things…

EXT. GLOBAL BEAT - DAY

And emerges through the revolving doors into the sunlight, squinting up into the cloudless L.A. sky. Walking away without guarantees, nothing but the belongings in his arms and the clothes on his back, but still true to himself. Still holding the pieces of himself they can’t exploit unless he lets them.

I’ll be there next time, I’ll be there next time…

As the song comes to an end, Josh takes a deep breath and begins his path into a new future, heading down the street and away from Global Beat.

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

In the past, Grace is just about to make a break for freedom herself. She traipses around her bedroom silently -- a trained natural at it now -- doing everything in her power not to wake up Kenneth.

She glances over her shoulder at him one last time, hesitation flickering in the shadows on her face for half a second…

Then she opens the bedroom door.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

The clock on the microwave display gives us the time. 3:30AM.

In the dim glow of the oven light, we can get a clearer picture as Grace rifles through the silverware drawer. In this light, we can just make out a couple of faded bruises on her forearms, and what looks like a fading welt on her cheek. Even though it’s only been a few years since they moved to New York, in her current exhaustion, it looks like decades. She seems eternally tired for someone who is barely in her mid-twenties, with her entire life ahead of her.

Maybe because it doesn’t feel like there’s much of a life to live.

That’s why she’s doing something about it. She lifts the silverware tray and retrieves an envelope, hidden in the same place she stashes extra money for Kenneth’s lemonade. She pulls out the contents, starting first with a letter that she quickly skims. It describes some logistics they must have discussed for a bit now, like train times and ticket prices and when the next flights out of the country are.

For now, she just has to get out of the city, and then they’ll go from there. The letter is signed “R.”

Then, Grace checks the rest of the envelope, where it seems she’s been siphoning cash. She glances over her shoulder nervously and then swiftly counts it out, confirming she has the right amount. Just enough for one ticket to Pittsburgh. Far enough away to buy her some time.

She closes the silverware drawer, then shuts off the oven light.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - ENTRYWAY - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

Grace moves quietly in the darkness, opening the coat closet and pulling a small duffle bag from its depths. One she must’ve packed earlier, that’s been hidden away for days. She leaves certain items on the small table with the vase, as if she hasn’t gone anywhere -- her chunky mobile phone, her keys, her family credit cards. If this goes as planned, she won’t need them anymore.

All there is left to do is leave. Grace shoulders the duffle and takes a deep breath, steeling her nerves. She’s been pushed this far, planned it all out -- she’s desperate.

She can do this.

Before she can touch the front door, she jumps out of her skin when someone else speaks.

Child, off-screen: Mama?

Grace freezes, only slightly relieved that it’s not the familiar deep baritone of her husband. Reluctantly, she silently lowers the duffle to the ground and peers around the corner of the entryway.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

Standing in the dark of the living room is a YOUNG LUCAS JAMES FRIAR (6). He’s dressed in an oversized shirt and cheap pajama pants, hugging his blanket close to his chest. If you looked close enough through the poor lighting, you could see he has a fading welt of his own to match his mother’s on his chin.

Grace exhales, doing her best not to appear frazzled.

Grace: Yeah, it’s just me. What are you doing up?

Lucas doesn’t exactly seem keen to say. He’s sheepish as he lowers his arms and tilts the blanket away from him, revealing both it and his shirt are caked with vomit.

Lucas: I threw up.

Based on how he says it, full of quiet shame, it’s not the first time. Grace sighs, frowning.

Grace: Another nightmare?

After a moment, Lucas nods. He looks up at her, wide eyes sad and already apprehensive for whatever punishment he’s earned.

Lucas: [ barely audible ] I’m sorry.

Grace feels rooted to the spot, unable to move in either direction. She was so certain she could do it, that she could walk away and make her escape, and that desperate desire blocked out everything else. She honestly didn’t even think about him -- which perhaps is evidence enough that she’s not cut out for this.

She’s selfish, and self-preserving, and not meant to be maternal. She never wanted a kid. She didn’t want this life.

Yet here she is, with a kid looking up to her asking for help. Her kid, for better or worse.

Grace: It’s okay. Go take all that to the bathroom, okay? We’ll clean it up. Lucas: Okay. Grace: But be quiet. We don’t want to wake up your dad.

That goes without saying. He’s young, but Lucas has internalized such things well enough already. Kenneth’s needs come above anything else, without question. It’s honestly remarkable he felt brave enough to come seek help, rather than just sitting in his own bile until morning.

Lucas softly retreats and disappears down the hall towards the bathroom. Grace is alone again, and left with her own decision to make. She looks over her shoulder, to the entryway where her bag is packed and ready to go. She could still do it. She could get away.

But no, she can’t. Not because she wants this… but because Lucas doesn’t get a choice. He didn’t ask to be born; he didn’t ask for either of them as parents. It’s unfair, the greatest injustice there is, but that’s how it is. Grace let herself be coerced into this, into giving him life, and now he has to live with the consequences.

They both do.

That’s the compromise. She can’t leave him here with the monster she lured on his own; she can’t stomach the possibility of leaving him to fend for himself. Even if she feels useless, and spineless, and of no great benefit to either of them, she has to try.

A couple of tears slip down her cheeks, but she brushes them aside. She swallows the ache in her throat and slowly picks up her bag from the entryway, hiding it in the closet again until she can empty it out tomorrow when Kenneth is at work.

Before she steps back into the living room, she pauses in the entryway, taking a deep breath. Holding back the urge to break down, to collapse into tears or scream at the top of her lungs, stuffing all of her misguided dreams and bold, untethered plans deep down to be forgotten. She can’t imagine them again. She doesn’t think she’ll survive if she does.

Then, she exhales it, accepting her fate.

She isn’t going anywhere.

She swipes the last tears from her cheeks and follows Lucas towards the bathroom.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - DAY

All these years later, in the present, Grace is back in the kitchen. She’s seated at the small table and going through the mail. She comes back to one envelope in particular, pulling out the thick papers stapled together and full of legalese.

That’s not what she cares about, though. She’s focused on the thin slip attached to the rest of it at the bottom.

She lifts her gaze when she hears the front door open, still trained to immediately tense up even though the threat is now gone for good. She relaxes once Lucas appears in the kitchen doorway, exchanging a soft greeting with her. He claims he’s just stopping by to grab something for staying over at the apartment.

Grace: Actually, can you sit for a minute? There’s something I want to talk to you about.

Okay… Lucas is uncertain but obliges, coming to sit in the chair opposite her at the table. After a moment, Grace hands him the stack of papers to look at.

Grace: This came yesterday.

Lucas glances at her in confusion, then looks it over. Once he’s had a chance to skim it, his eyes widen in recognition.

Kenneth’s life insurance payout. Finally in their hands, after all the time they wasted avoiding the funeral.

Lucas: Oh… how much is it?

Grace hands him the slip of paper next -- the check from the insurance company. Based on Lucas’s reaction when he reads it, it’s not an insignificant sum.

Lucas: Wow.

Suppose it’s good he at least cared enough about himself to insure something… Grace nods.

Grace: It’s not bad. [ a beat ] I want you to have it.

That’s genuinely shocking to Lucas. He stares at her, frowning.

Lucas: What? No. Grace: Yes. I want you to take it. Use it for Davis. Lucas: I… I can’t. I -- you need it. Grace: I’ll be fine.

He shakes his head wordlessly, then stammers over his response. He puts the check back on the table between them.

Lucas: [ choked up ] I don’t -- I don’t want it. I don’t want his money.

At that, Grace’s impressive resolve crumbles. She finally cracks.

Grace: This is not his money! [ voice breaking ] This is what we get for surviving.

All they had to endure, everything they went through for the last two decades -- for his whole life. This is all they’re going to get from it. This is the first thing they get that doesn’t automatically belong to him. Doesn’t he see that?

Lucas does, potentially, but it’s just so hard to comprehend. It’s hard to believe, and that makes it scary.

Grace takes a second to compose herself, before meeting his eyes again.

Grace: You’ve already given up so much. So much that -- that you don’t even realize you were missing. It’s not fair. It’s not right.

Lucas clenches his jaw, eyes glossy. Grace blinks back tears of her own and picks up the check again.

Grace: This is the first step in making it right.

She holds his gaze, placing the check back in his hands and closing hers around them. Not letting him throw it away.

Grace: This is your future.

More than that, it’s freedom. For her, to make the choice where it goes; for him, to do whatever he wants to do with it. To finally be able to follow his ambitions, not held back by anyone or anything. To do the things she was never able, or brave enough, to do. This is after -- the beginning of the rest of their lives.

Lucas pulls one hand from hers to swipe at the tears that just slipped out. All he can manage is a nod, but he relents. He accepts it. Grace smiles, cheeks shining with tears of her own.

Their hands stay together on the tabletop.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Maya is curled up on the couch, but at least she has emerged from the lonely cavern of her bedroom. Now that she’s not carrying her burden alone, that she has someone else in her corner, it doesn’t feel as hopeless. She doesn’t feel as hollow.

Still, she’s not entirely convinced she can hack it. She currently has a text open to her mom, where it seems she’s typed out a vague but engrossing story as to why she’s decided Hollywood isn’t for her. Why she thinks she needs to come back to New York.

Maya may just abandon her dreams after all.

She quickly deletes the text and closes her phone when the front door opens, Farkle entering the apartment. They exchange greetings and light smiles, and after dropping his bag on the kitchen table, Farkle comes to join her on the couch.

For a minute, they sit in companionable silence, both lost in their own heads. Both with a lot to contemplate and think about. Neither aware of the other’s big questions and daunting decisions, or the forces compelling them to consider them in the first place.

Farkle: I booked my ticket back for the wedding. Did you? Maya: Oh, no. Not yet. I’ll figure it out. Farkle: Sorry, I should’ve asked if you wanted to book together. Maya: No, it’s all good. I actually think Josh and I might take the same flight, so.

Oh. That’s news… Farkle didn’t realize they were on that good of terms. But no issue for him -- he likes Josh. At least, better than he thought Maya did.

Farkle: Cool. As long as you’re not going it alone. Maya: Yeah… yeah, for now, I’m good.

Feels a bit weird, though, not being one another’s first thought. Feels weird to consider that this situation might change, that one of them could pack their bags and completely leave the other behind. All things considered, that’s one thing neither of them want.

None of that is said, of course, but Maya reaches to alleviate the discomfort regardless. Without prompting, and without explanation, she scoots closer and cuddles up close to Farkle, resting her head on his shoulder. Soaking up the familiar warmth, not wasting a second of it while she’s sure she has it.

And although it feels out of nowhere, Farkle doesn’t question it. He has no complaints. After a moment, he slouches back and relaxes into it, tilting his head against hers. Both of them shut their eyes, settling into comfortable, peaceful quiet.

Regardless of what else is changing, no matter what else they seem to have taken away, the two of them are sure this is something they don’t want to lose.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Riley is leaning against the island counter, scrolling through websites on her phone. At a glance, it looks like she’s scanning volunteer organizations, though they don’t seem based in New York given the scenery just visible in some of the images.

She looks up from her phone when the front door opens, Lucas stepping into the apartment. She smiles naturally and starts to greet him, but surprisingly, Lucas speaks first.

Lucas: So I’ve got some news. Riley: Oh? Lucas: Yeah. You’ll want to hear this, actually, because it concerns you. [ plainly ] You’ve got a new boyfriend.

Um, what? Riley gives him a look, confused… then she narrows her eyes, assuming he’s up to something. She figures he must be, because she doesn’t believe he’d be so nonchalant about suggesting a change in their relationship otherwise.

Riley: Is that so? Lucas: Yep. But don’t worry, I think you’re gonna like him.

All right, she’ll bite. She plays along as he slowly saunters over to join her.

Riley: I’m listening. What’s he like? Lucas: Oh, total mess. No clue what he’s doing, terrible with words. Going to UC Davis, so that’s great, but he already deferred a year, so all bets are off how that’s going to go. Really, not a reliable horse to bet on. So, you know, exactly your type. Riley: Uh huh… Lucas: But he’s working on it. He’s a mediocre dancer, and has a criminal record, but he makes a pretty mean milkshake, so that counts for something. Riley: I’d say that accounts for quite a bit, yes. I’m enthralled. [ a beat ] And who am I falling so madly in love with, exactly?

Lucas has made it to her, joining her at the counter. He hedges for a second longer, just for effect… then he retrieves a piece of paper and his license from his jacket pocket. He places them on the surface for her to look for herself.

He’s legally changed his name. For all intents and purposes, he’s now Lucas James Kinsley.

Riley softens, marveling at the new license. Lucas clears his throat, doing his best to explain.

Lucas: Just felt right. If we were burying him… I wanted to bury all of it. Hopefully for good. [ a beat ] I’m not going to be that.

Or else, he’ll die trying. He’ll do everything in his power to keep it that way. Riley rubs her thumb over his photo on his license, filled with fondness and a touch of pride.

Riley: Lucas James Kinsley. [ looking at him ] I love him already.

She does. It’s the only thing she’s certain of, the only thing she knows is meant to be. Doesn’t matter what his name is, or where they are.

As he leans forward to kiss her and she presses a smile against his lips, she knows without a doubt there’s no other detail that matters more than being with him.

INT. SVORSKI’S COFFEE - DAY

A few days later, Farkle has made it back to New York. He’s at a table with Zay, the two of them killing time while they wait for their third to show up. In the meantime, Farkle is regaling Zay with all the dirty details of his break-up with Jordan.

Evidently, despite how much it hurt Farkle at the time, Zay is pleased with his story.

Zay: You know, I really never thought I’d say this out loud without irony, but your slay, Farkle Minkus. I’m proud of you.

And oh, how praise from Zay Babineaux is like catnip. Farkle beams, accepting the sentiment.

Riley finally arrives, smiling brightly as she swoops over to join them. She accepts a tight hug from Farkle and apologizes for being late, eagerly launching into conversation. She can’t wait to catch up with them both, as it’s been a hell of a month and it feels like so much has happened.

That’s true, for all of them. There’s so much that’s developed in all their lives, it’s like none of them are sure where to start -- or if they even can. Some of the things they’re most bursting to share, to shout from the rooftops, don’t even feel like confirmed things they can say.

Neither Farkle or Zay seem keen to jump in with that in mind, so Riley offers to, claiming she has some big news. The boys are secretly pretty skeptical she could beat whatever personal seismic shifts have occurred in their worlds, but they gesture for her to go on.

They should know by now never to doubt Riley Matthews. She looks at them both, smile confident and cheeks flushed, as she makes a bold declaration.

Riley: I’m dropping out of NYU. [ with cool certainty ] I’m going to California.

Yeah, definitely not something either of them were expecting. Zay’s expression drops, stunned, while Farkle’s actual jaw drops slightly. He turns to look at Zay, trying to gauge his reaction too. Is this as crazy as it sounds?

But Riley isn’t fazed. She remains calm, self-assured, smile easy on her face as she looks towards the future.

God willing, let’s hope it stays that way.

END OF EPISODE.

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[thewarfox]

I don't know about demons, that's whatever, but I recall distinctly hanging out with my dad in 2016 during the primaries and him asking me what I thought of all the would-be candidates. I was a newly-minted Libertarian at the time, having been a Democrat, and I recall saying to him, "I don't understand why all of them seem to want to go to war so much. All of the candidates suck in both parties." As far as Trump was concerned, I didn't even take him seriously when I'd said that. He was a novelty candidate in my head, not too unlike the parade of losers that showed up to govern California. The goings on of the primaries only reinforced my Libertarian loyalty, and I got majorly behind Gary Johnson(the most generic name ever in retrospect) and the message at the time. I was officially in protest with both major parties. I was not a vote being taken away from either of them, I was a protest vote. As such, I was fully in on(and still support) the idea that too much power has been ceded to the Executive Branch. As Donald Trump was elected, I was actually quite happy, because I thought to myself, "This is a great opportunity for Congress to realize that the powers they give to the President might be wielded one day by someone who doesn't conform to their will or wishes. It is a perfect time to take them away so this never happens again." Granted, I also thought it was entirely possible they would weather the storm of his presidency to try to reinstall someone who would wield that power to their liking, but it was probably the best chance to reduce the power of the Presidency. What I got, instead, was the best President of my lifetime. Was he a boisterous blowhard? Yeah, sure, but I've seen every president in my life before suck their own dick about how many 'accomplishments' they had while totally failing to achieve or even pursue their campaign promises. The big DT was thrashing around in the White House, pushing the same agenda he'd said he would, and running up against basically everyone in both parties trying to stop him. As a newly-minted Libertarian, I realized pretty quickly that Gary Johnson didn't have remotely enough balls to do what Donald Trump was doing. The right man for the job had been elected. Everyone was coming after him. After untold numbers of investigations Trump kept coming out WAY cleaner than any real politician would have. We've all seen the net worth of these crooks increase in office while theoretically only earning a relatively modest living from their paychecks. Meanwhile Trump was actually losing net worth.

And of course he was! He was already a wealthy man. Doing the President's job is antithetical to being a rich businessman. He's so constrained. He's so VISIBLE. Because of how much the establishment and the news media hated him, he couldn't really get away with anything. It's not like today with Biden, with the way the media and politicians had been covering for him his whole presidency, hiding all his failures and corruption, making it easy to forget all the criminal acts of his family and burying and failing to investigate/prosecute what they could.

If Joe Biden and his family had been investigated with HALF the fervor that Donald Trump had been, we could well have half of the US Government in jail. The number of threads that investigating this 50-year political animal would pull on would UPEND the very structure of the political establishment. We've seen so many little pieces and snippets of it. The way people covered for him, the way he treated sensitive US documents in his garage, the way his son brokered for power in his name, and everything in-between.

Biden flippantly defied the courts multiple times when they tried to stop his illegal, unconstitutional agendas, while Trump simply complied and complained about the courts stopping his. Biden invited in untold millions of criminals from across the world, as well as unknown numbers of foreign agents while Trump wanted to secure our borders and only let in the best and brightest the world had to offer to make the US better, not worse.

The number of ways that Joe Biden proved what a superior President and Man that Donald Trump is are myriad. If we had gotten Biden as President without having ever seen a Trump Presidency, we might have found Joe to be relatively mediocre and uneventful. Having them in direct contrast with each other, while Joe did everything he could to illegally destroy Trump, possibly including allowing for his assassination through incompetence and neglect? Absolutely absurd.

I'm still a Libertarian. I don't have faith in the Democrats. I don't have faith in the establishment Republicans that didn't show up for the Republican National Convention. I do have faith in Donald Trump. I do have faith in MAGA(or is it MAGoA now?). I want to see those threads pulled. I want to see the government exposed for all to see. Release the documents. Investigate the corruption. Close the Border. End the Wars. De-wokeify the Military. Bring the Budget under control. Run our nation like a fucking company and make us all rich.

Bring us back to a world where the government is not trusted, where we keep a steady eye on them, where we limit their power and influence, and where the American people are in charge. I'm sick to death of people just accepting things can never change, and that we just need to get accustomed to every new ounce of pressure on our necks. And for God's sake, I don't want to just see 4 nominations for the Nobel Peace Prize for him, I want to see some goddamn wins this time. Forge a future we can be proud of.

"Tens of millions would have died if Hillary Clinton won." Mike Cernovich on the 2016 election 🤔

[imjusthereforagrandtime]

Finale spoilers!!!

I don't think the writers will shy away from the cliffhanger.

The wwdits writers HAVE to change things.

Guillermo has pointed out that things NEVER change and since hes always been the 'human/audience' eye in the world of monsters, means that the writers are well aware of the fact there's going to be a new turning point. And it makes sense that guillermo will be the one changing things again.

Those 4 vampires have lived together in that house for decades but they weren't close, not really. They were roommates who could hardly stand each other. In season one, they all outright detested spending time with Colin. Nandor was always too self absorbed to notice anyone (no less his own familiar). And Nadja and Laszlo were too wrapped up in their marriage to give a shit about anyone but each other.

Not until Guillermo got into the picture. Or, more accurately, his heritage. Actually, all biggest turning points in the series always came down to Guillermo and his slayer heritage

If he hadn't killed the Baron, the Baron would have killed them. The Barons false death was why they got onto the Vampiric Councils radar in the first place. When they escaped (with Guillermo's help), the VC sent in assassins (that Guillermo killed) and planned an entire event just to execute them (that Guillermo stopped). Its only when GUILLERMO slayed nearly the entire Tri-state vampire population were the 4 vampires approached to become leaders of the Vampiric Council.

If Laszlo wasn't in that library in the Vampiric Council, he never would have found out that Colin was going to die. He wouldn't have tried to become real friends with Colin, wouldn't have cared much at all for Colin's death. Which means he wouldn't have raised baby Colin.

If Nandor didn't get the cloak of Duplication, would he have ever pursued Meg? If he hadn't been assigned the task to go to that cult, would he have met Jan? Nandor WANTS change on a subconscious level, he wants love like Nadja and Laszlo do, he just doesn't realise he has to be the one doing the changing. All these terrible and toxic relationships (where he's both the victim and abuser) have only made him backslide in his growth.

If Nadja never became a coleader of the Vampiric Council, she might have never realised her potential, her ambition, always stuck in the house with her husband for company. (Its why the ghost of her was so disappointed she never achieved anything as a vampire)

Guillermo has always been the agent of change, the root of it all. Only reason why he hasn't changed absolutely EVERYTHING was because he wanted only Nandor to do the honours, so he put up with 3 more years of being a familiar/bodyguard. It makes total sense he'd change the rules of the game again by the end of this season, by letting go of his ONE MAIN character trait (which is wanting Nandor to do the turning) and going to Derek.

On the surface, it seems like nothing has changed. But in actuality, things are never going to be the same, no matter how hard the 4 vampires try to pretend. Now, Laszlo isn't just the Lazy Vampire who only fucks and sucks, he's also Colin's dad. Nandor has only become more depressed, resigned to his ever-lasting lonely life. Nadja's ambitions are once again snuffed out, her dreams squashed, sending her crawling back to her safety net.

Physically, everyone's back at square one. Emotionally? They've all experienced things they never have before and they don't know how to cope with the internal change.

They may pretend things are fine. That nothing has changed since the documentary started. But it's only a matter of time before either a) something gives (which is highly unlikely because these vampires are codependent as much as they are emotionally repressed) or b)...

Guillermo (the writers) changes the game.

And turn him into a vampire.

The natural progression would be that all 4 vampire admit that they do care for each other, that they see each other as family (They have lived together for decades, yet they've only started genuinely acting like a family when the documentary started, aka when Guillermo was revealed tno be a slayer)

But like I said, they're repressed, and nothings gonna change until Guillermo shakes things up.

And I, for one, can't wait to see how it pans out.

(I don't want to theorise or set expectations, but I do hope that Guillermo will become a big target to the Vampiric Council (if not them, then maybe to another big baddie). For a Van Helsing to become a vampire? Thats unheard of. It has to be illegal somehow. If The Guide had her memories wiped for sleeping with a Van Helsing, what would be the punishment for a Van Helsing to become a vampire?? If that's how the writers will approach it, then the Family will be involved somehow. Stakes have to be raised, and they'll be forced into positions where they have to admit they genuinely care about each other.)

I truly dont think the writers will shy away from turning Guillermo into a vampire. Or at least, play with the real possibility of Guillermo becoming a vampire.

Because this has always been Guillermo's role in the series: to be the catalyst of change, the domino effect in everyone in the family.

And what better way to switch it up than completely overturning the vampires' expectations of Guillermo their human familiar-bodyguard?

Letting go of his full devotion to Nandor and finally becoming their equal will do exactly that.