#does anyone else create them on the spot right before hitting the post button

[mx-myth]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 莲花楼 | Mysterious Lotus Casebook (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Di Feisheng & Fang Duobing, Di Feisheng & Wu Yan, Fang Duobing & Wu Yan, Di Feisheng & Fang Duobing & Wu Yan, Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing, Di Feisheng/Wu Yan, Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing/Wu Yan, Di Feisheng & Huli Jing, Fang Duobing & Huli Jing Characters: Di Feisheng, Fang Duobing, Wu Yan (Mysterious Lotus Casebook), Huli Jing (Mysterious Lotus Casebook), He Xiaohui, He Xiaofeng, Zhan Yunfei Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Amnesia, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Grief/Mourning, Slow Burn, llh is haunting the narrative but not like actively, jlq is mentioned, Found Family, Trauma, idk about wuxia historical details. sorry if there's inaccuracies, Literal Sleeping Together, an appearance of two oc lesbian npcs I had to make up, Getting to Know Each Other, Intimacy, Trust, Domestic, Soft, Caretaking, How Do I Tag, Love, Food as a Metaphor for Love, everything as a metaphor for love honestly, everything is a metaphor, Travel, su xiaoyong is mentioned, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Light Angst, Self-Discovery, what then., Devotion, what happens if you lose yourself and discover how loved you were (are) in the meantime

Summary:

When he wakes he is cold. The wind is howling and the clothes he’s wearing are all damp. The ground is lumpy and hard beneath him, and for a moment or two he just lays there.

When he holds his palm up he discovers cuts, scabbed over but reopened, sluggishly bleeding. There are characters carved into the skin - find Fang Duobing. The blood leaks down his palm, blurring the lines.

Or, an amnesia story.

(The dfs amnesia au I’ve been talking about since forever is finally posted. Sorry again that the title is so danmei. It is what it is.)

[buferfliz]

I Love You More

Satori Tendou is my favorite Haikyuu character and I love him. This is rather self-indulgent but hopefully some people will like it. This should have been posted around Christmas but oh well.

I made the banner.

Word count: 2663

Warnings: Mentions of bullying, Fluffy sweet fluff, some cheesy nicknames but i like them

         Awakened by feathery touches all over your face, you flutter open your eyes and are greeted with the source of said touches. Your boyfriend continues to place light kisses all over your face before placing the final one on your lips.

         “Good morning my paradise,” the red head lying next to you greets.

         You smile at him.

         “Good morning my love. To what do I owe this pleasant wakeup call?”

         “I couldn’t help myself, you looked so cute and I just wanted to cover you in kisses. But I might also have had an ulterior motive.”

         You raise an eyebrow at his response. Satori Tendou, your boyfriend of five years though you’d been friends since middle school, always was full of surprises big and small alike. It was part of the reason you loved him so much, life was never boring.

         You give him a little peck on the lips.

         “And what might this ulterior motive be?”

         “Well, it snowed last night. It’s still snowing actually.” He animatedly tells you.

         You smile at how excited he sounds over the snow.

         “Well it is almost Christmas after all, perfect time for snow. I see you’re excited about it. Is there something you wanted to do?”

         “Well I would like to snuggle under a blanket with you and drink hot cocoa, but first…” He trails off and gives you a mischievous little grin.

         “But first what?” You cautiously ask.

         Tendou clears his throat and begins to sing.

         “Do you wanna build a snowman?”

         “Oh no.”

         “It doesn’t have to be a snowman.”

         “Are you seriously singing Frozen to me right now?” You laugh.

         “So what if I am? You know you love when I sing to you.” He gives you a flirty grin.

         “Well you got me there. I do love your songs.”

         “So?”

         “So what?”

         “Do you wanna build a snowman?” He sings once more.

         “Hmm, I don’t know.” You tease him.

         He gives you a cute little pout.

         “Aww, come on cupcake, please. I’ll make you some of my special homemade cocoa afterwards.”

         Your eyes light up. Satori makes the best hot cocoa, you think as you smile.

         “I would have said yes anyway but you promised me cocoa so now I’m going to hold you to it.” You give him a kiss on the lips before getting up to get dressed and ready for your outdoor playdate.

  Ten minutes later you emerge from your bedroom. You walk through the twinkling glow of the lights on your decorated tree as you head to your front door. You take out all of the necessary outerwear from the closet and begin putting it on.

“Satori? I thought you wanted to build a snowman?” You call out when you don’t see him, having expected him to be all ready to go.

His voice rings out from the kitchen.

“Of course I do pumpkin. I was just getting everything out and set up for the cocoa later.”

He comes out of the kitchen with a couple of chocolates in his hand and pops one into his mouth before walking over to you.

“Do you want a piece?”

“Always. I love your chocolates but not as much as I love you.”

He smiles at you adoringly and puts the chocolate into your mouth before capturing your lips in a loving kiss.

“I love you more my paradise.” He says while looking at you as if you’re the only person in the world.

         You smile at him. He was the sweetest person that you had ever met and you never did understand why people were always so mean to him when the two of you were younger. It pissed you off even just remembering it despite it being so long ago. Even now some people would occasionally look at him like he was some kind of freak and it pissed you off every time. Back in middle school you had been his only friend and you had ended up in quite a number of fights defending him from the bullies. You never regretted a single fight or the countless hours you’d spent in detention because of them. You’d never let anyone get away with being mean to the boy you loved. If you regretted anything it was the fact that it had taken until the first year of college for the two of you to become a couple. That didn’t matter now though because you were together and you’d never been happier.

         “Are you ready?” You ask Tendou as you pull your hat on.

         He finishes wrapping his unnecessarily long scarf around his neck and smiles.

         “Yeah let’s go.”

 You enter the front yard and spread out looking for the best place to build your snowman. As you scout the area, you glance up at the small house the two of you had moved into a couple of months prior and smile. It wasn’t anything big or fancy but it was warm and cozy and much bigger than the tiny one bedroom apartment you had moved into together after you graduated college a year and a half ago.

It looks pretty with the snow on the roof and the Christmas lights Satori outlined it in, you think as you admire the picture before you.

“I found the perfect spot pumpkin!” You hear your boyfriend excitedly call out.

You make your way over to his location and look around.

“You’re right, this is the perfect spot. Let’s get started.” You smile at him and begin forming the base of your snowman.

“It’s going to look great.” He enthusiastically replies before getting to work himself.

  You finish shaping the head of your snowman and place it on top of the other two segments. You brush your gloves together to try and rid them of the excess snow before looking over at Tendou who is putting the head on top of the much taller snowman next to your own. He looks over at your snowman after he’s happy with the placement.

“Yours is missing something.” He says to you.

“Yeah, a face. So is yours.”

“No that’s not it. I mean yes they both need faces but yours is missing something else.”

You furrow your brow as you appraise your snowman. “What?”

He gives you a smirk before bending down and making two snowballs.

“You better not hit me with those.”

“No of course not cupcake. This is what yours is missing.”

He takes the two snowballs and affixes them next to each other on the middle segment of your snowman. You laugh as he smoothes them on.

“Seriously baby?”

“Yes. Yours is a snow woman.”

“Is that supposed to be me then? And this one is you, that’s why it’s so tall?”

“Exactly.” He smiles and kisses the tip of your nose.

“So it’s a snow couple of us. Cute.”

“Not just a snow couple.” Tendou quickly creates two smaller snowmen in front of the other two. “It’s a snow family.” He gives you a big smile.

“But we don’t have any kids.”

“Not yet but we will, right?”

“Yeah someday.”

“Hopefully someday soon.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Just how soon was he thinking? Though I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about us having a family of our own, you think to yourself.

“Hmm maybe but don’t you think we should at least be engaged first?”

“What are you talking about? We already are pumpkin.” He says with a smile.

You let out a laugh.

“Satori love, I don’t think you proposing when we were 12 counts, even if I did say yes. That candy ring was delicious though.”

He laughs.

“Only the best for my paradise.”

You laugh together as you reminisce on the fond memory,

“Ok. I’m going to go inside and get some stuff for the faces. You look for arm sticks.”

You nod your head and begin your search as he heads inside to get supplies.

  Ten minutes later you have successfully found arm sticks for all the snowmen even some small ones for your snow children. Tendou still hasn’t come back outside and you begin to wonder what could be taking him so long. You decide to add a snow cat to your happy little snow family while you wait.

Ten minutes after that you were just about to go inside and see what was taking so long when he finally emerges from the house with a little box of assorted supplies. Buttons for the eyes, carrots for the noses.

“Is that red licorice?” You ask.

“Yeah it’s for the mouths and here’s some tinsel for your snow woman’s hair. And that’s not all.” With dramatic flair he presents to you a bag of red feathers.

“Oh I remember those. You had to have them when we were at the craft store. Is that what took you so long?”

“Yeah I had to look for them. I told you I’d use them.” He takes some of the longer ones out and begins placing them on the top of his snowman’s head, sticking straight up. You laugh.

“It really does look like your hair.”

He smiles at you and nods proudly as he continues decorating.

You pick up the buttons and get to work on your snow woman’s face as a shiver runs through you. Tendou notices.

“Why aren’t you wearing a scarf pumpkin?”

“Because I need a new one, I lost mine.”

“Well then come here.”

“What are you doing?”

“There’s a reason why I wear such a long scarf you know, it’s so I can share it with you.” He unwinds some of his unnecessarily long scarf from around his neck and wraps it around you.

You smile. “We’re going to have to stay close together then.”

“That’s just how I like it so no complaints from me.” He happily responds.

You stay close and finish up your snow family. You take a few pictures and then hurry inside out of the cold.

  The two of you change out of your wet clothing and into something warm and dry before going into the kitchen.

You perch yourself on a barstool as Tendou gets to work making the hot cocoa. Before long he’s placing a steaming mug of it, complete with mini marshmallows, in front of you.

“Would you like a cupcake, cupcake?” He smiles.

“When did you make cupcakes?”

“This morning before I woke you up. They’re your favorite.”

Your face lights up.

“Funfetti?”

“Of course.”

“You’re too good to me, my love.”

He hands you one of the cupcakes before taking one for himself. The two of you spend the next few minutes quietly eating cupcakes and drinking cocoa.

“Mmm, so good.” You say as you enjoy your sweets.

You tilt your head back a bit and place the last piece of cupcake into your mouth when you notice something hanging from the ceiling.

“Is that mistletoe?” You ask after swallowing what’s in your mouth.

You look over to see a smiling Tendou looking back at you.

“Maybe.”

You smile and lean over, pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

“When did you even hang that?” You look back up at the mistletoe when you spot something attached to it.

“Is that a piece of paper?”

“Maybe.” He smirks.  “You should grab it and see.”

“You know I can’t reach that.”

He grabs ahold of you and gives you a boost so you can reach the paper. You retrieve it and he puts you back down.

“Should I be worried?” You chuckle as you unfold the paper.

“Just read it.” He tells you with a chuckle of his own.

“Ok.” You fully unfold the paper and read aloud. “I am just the first of many hints to lead you on your search. To find clue number two, go to the place where you poo.”

You laugh out loud.

“Seriously love?”

“Yeah I couldn’t think of anything else that rhymed.” He says a bit sheepishly.

“Well I know where it is without question.” You lace your fingers with his and kiss the back of his hand before making your way to the bathroom.

You look up and see another mistletoe with another piece of paper.

“I’m going to need your help again, baby.”

“Not so fast pumpkin, where’s my kiss?”

You shake your head and go onto your tiptoes as he leans down. You give him another sweet kiss. He smiles at you and helps you to retrieve the next paper. You unfold it and read.

“Great job, you’re halfway there, now onto clue number three. I know what you’re thinking and it’s not a trap just go to the place where you like to nap.”

You smile and take hold of his hand again and head into the living room.

“You couldn’t put it over the couch so I could reach it?”

“Now where would be the fun in that? You know what to do.”

You put your arms around his neck as his hands make their way onto your hips. You give him a more passionate kiss this time before breaking away. He gives you another boost and you grab the next clue.

“Only one more left so don’t get feisty, go to the place where we make things spicy.”

You look over at your boyfriend who is wearing a teasing little smirk.

“Well I know where this is leading.” You give him a peck on the cheek. “This is fun. Thank you baby.”

Taking his hand once more, you head into the bedroom. You spot the mistletoe above the bed.

“Ah finally one I can reach on my own.” You look at Tendou. “You put all these up when you came in here to get the stuff for our snow family, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, you caught me. I wanted to surprise you so I couldn’t let you see them before I was ready.”

“You’re so freakin’ cute.” You smile and then climb onto the bed and retrieve the last paper.

“It seems you’ve come to the end of the line, now turn around cupcake and look me in the eye.”

You do as the note says and face Tendou. He helps you down off the bed before getting down on one knee in front of you. He holds your left hand as your right one goes to your mouth, eyes widening in surprise.

“I love you my paradise. I have ever since I proposed to you when we were 12. You’re the only one who has always been there for me, the only one who stuck up for me when I was being called monster and freak. You’ve always made me feel like a person and that I was loved, loved by you. I’m not sure how I got lucky enough to have someone as amazing as you love me but I’m so grateful that I do. You’re my everything. All I could ever ask for and more. I promise to always take care of you and love you with all I have from now until the rest of forever. Will you marry me?”

Your eyes well up with happy tears, a few escaping down your cheeks and you smile.

“I said yes then and I’m saying yes now. Of course I’ll marry you Satori, I love you so much, ever since we were 12. Always have, always will.”

He stands up and pulls you to him. You share a loving kiss as you hug each other tightly.

“I even got you a real ring this time.” He slips the ring onto your finger.

You let out a little chuckle and look at it.

“It’s beautiful my love.”

“Not as beautiful as you.”

“You’re the sweetest and I love it! Even if I can’t eat it this time.”

Tendou laughs and pulls you against him more tightly. He gives you another sweet kiss.

“I love you my miracle boy.”

“I love you more my paradise.”

[coveredinsweetpea]

Sweet pea and handcuffs and little bit of his pocket knife play concept or I’m being extra the boy he’s a bad boy but so sexy and dangerous 😍😍😍😍

Pure filth. I wanted to do more but i need to get back to studying. I hope it’s decent! (Warning: not edited lmao)

-

"Tell me, love" Sweet Pea grunted, slamming the door of his house shut. You had walked in first, and remained with your back turned to him, finding it impossible to stop a smile of enthusiasm from curling onto your lips.

"Hm?" you mumbled.

"Did you find that funny?" he grunted, referring to you grinding against Archie's cock during that party that you had just attended together.

"I know he did" you chuckled, turning around to see Sweet Pea flaring with anger.

"You think?"

"Oh, I know" you laughed, knowing full well how hard you were pushing his buttons, "Or wait- his cock got really hard, so I think he found it more hot than funny"

"Annoy me, baby doll" he grinned, walking towards you. His body towered over you and your mouth watered as a familiar pressure started building up between your legs in anticipation, "Try me, see what happens"

"I know what will happen" you smiled, innocently looking up into his eyes, allowing the lie to slip right through your teeth, "You know he used to fuck me better than you do. You're all talk, Pea"

"And no bark?" he played along.

"Nope" you shook your head, "I'm being honest now, you've got the biggest cock I've ever seen, but still, you don't really know what to do with it"

"I don't know, do I?"

"If you did, Pea" you sighed, "You think I'd still dream of Archie ruining me"

"You're right" he grunted, the raw anger in his veins making his voice all raspy and broken, "You wouldn't"

"Since you understand" you nodded, closing the distance between your bodies and allowing your breasts to brush against his muscular chest, "You wouldn't mind if I texted him right now, right?"

This time, Sweet Pea failed to answer. You knew he probably reached the end of his patience, so you licked your lips, and grabbed your phone as you spun around on your heels, ready to walk away and text Archie. However, you didn't get a chance to take more than a step, until he grabbed your right elbow and forcefully pulled you back against his chest. His hand came around your frame, and grabbed your chin to get you to tilt your head and look at him over your shoulder.

"Give me your phone" he groaned, his breath fanning against your lips.

"Why?"

Sweet Pea chuckled, "Angel, you're not in a position to ask any questions anymore"

His words hit right between your legs. You handed him your phone, and he grabbed with his free hand, stuffing it in his pocket as he maintained his grip on your chin. His eyes dripped lust as he looked down at you. The tension in the room was unbearable, but just when you wanted to push him a bit more, he let you go.

"Wait for me in the bedroom" he said, walking across the living room, "And you'd better not be wearing any of that if you want to wear them ever again"

Barely able to contain your arousal, you swallowed thickly and headed for your room. Initially, you were determined to test him further and not undress, but you knew him, and as hot it had been in the moment, there are few shirts you still miss after he ripped them off of you in the past. So, you took your clothes off, remaining only in your lace underwear, and settled on the bed. It wasn't long before you heard him walk down the hallway, and your impatience grew stronger.

After he walked inside, he stopped dead in his tracks and shook his head, smiling, "What's that love?" he asked, pointing to your body.

You looked down at your body, "I though-"

"Yeah, you're right actually" he chuckled, approaching you. You raised yourself to welcome him with a kiss, but he instead kept the distance, and only grabbed your wrists. Sweet Pea pushed you back, and guided your arms up, over your head, and towards the bed post. He kept your arms in place with one hand as with the other he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. The simple sight of them, made your eyes roll back as you bit your lip in sweet anticipation.

In a matter of seconds, he had your restrained with your arms above your head. He settled on top of you, knees on each side of your hips.

"Pea" you moaned, trying to create some friction between your legs, but it was to no avail.

"What, love?" he cooed, leaning down to kiss your lips. After all the waiting, you welcomed his lips against yours with hunger, begging for his tongue to open your mouth.

"Come on, Pea" you whined, "Please"

"Please, what?" he laughed, "Now you want me to fuck you?"

You eagerly nodded yes, but it only prompted him to chuckle in return.

"You know you're gonna have to do so much more than that" he shook his head.

Sweet Pea pushed himself up and turned to look at your panties. "First of all, these need to go. I wanna see how wet you get when you beg"

Out of instinct, you pushed your hips up, and expected him to wrap his fingers around the sides of your underwear, but much to your surprise, he reached into his pocket again, and brought out his knife. It had your initials carved into the wood of its handle, and when you felt the blade brush past your skin ever so slowly, your pussy tingled. Without thinking twice, Sweet Pea pushed his knife through the material of your panties, making it ridiculously easy for him to rid you of them.

"Fuck" you gasped, arching your back.

"Thought I wasn't gonna do it?" he laughed, "Is that it?"

"That was really, really-" you said, breathing heavily, "Hot"

"You fucking slut" he shook his head, "Does this turn you on?" Sweet Pea asked, raising his knife.

"Maybe?"

"The things that make your whore wheels turn..." he sighed, letting his head fall back.

"Please, Pea" you moaned.

"Please what, angel?" he asked, guiding his hand between your legs. His fingers were instantly met with your damp core. Pea kept his eyes trained on yours, waiting for a reply as he teasingly rubbed his middle finger up and down your folds.

"Please fuck me, Pea" you panted, his touch just enough to drive you crazy, "I need you"

"This pussy wet for me?" he asked, pressing his thumb against your clit and forcing a whimper to escape your lips.

"Yes! I only want you"

He shook his head, "I don't buy that. Try harder" he commanded, pressing his fingers against your sweet spots.

It took you a second to gather your words, but before you managed to open your mouth to speak, you felt the cold metallic blade of his knife against your hip again. He dragged it up your side as you breathed out ruggedly. When the sharp tip reached your exposed breasts, you froze.

"Are you a good girl now?" Sweet Pea taunted, "Are you gonna tell me what I want to hear?"

"Yes, yes" you breathed, "Please, Pea, I'm begging you, I'm so fucking wet, I need you inside me"

"I know for a fact you can express yourself better" he grinned, leaning down to hover mere inches above you. His dark eyes bore into yours, keeping your mind busy. What brought you back to reality was his knife pressing now against your cheek. The simple fact that you knew there was not a chance in hell he would hurt you, even if he had the power to do so, drove you insane. 6'3 worth of bad boy muscle, with a hard cock between your legs, dominating you in your own bedroom was all you needed.

"I'm begging you, Pea" you panted, rubbing your thighs together the best you could, "I really need your cock, I really do, fill me up please, I will be a good girl. I'm your good whore, daddy. I promise I'll take you so good"

"I know you will, angel" he nodded, speaking directly against your lips. "I know a whore like you can take a cock, but whose cock do you want?" he asked, pressing the blunt side of his pocket knife harder against your skin.

"Yours" you moaned, "Only yours, I don't want anyone else! I don't want to make anyone else cum. I don't want anyone else to touch me, ever"

"See?" Sweet Pea smiled, "Was that so hard?" and tossed his knife onto the night stand.

You nodded now, smiling in anticipation.

"Now prove it, baby doll" he grinned, standing up. As he worked on finally undressing himself, he never looked away from you. "Show me how badly you want to please me, and then, I'll fuck you into oblivion, baby. Make you cum again and again until the sun rises"

As soon as he pulled off his underwear, his painfully hard cock sprung free, making your mouth water. You expected him to settled between your legs, but instead, he moved higher up your body, and placed his knees on each side of your shoulders.

"These cuffs are not coming off until I'm sure you know who you belong to"

"I don't want them off" you responded, looking up at him.

When he guided his hand to give himself a few pumps, you lowered your eyes. His erect cock was mere inches away from your lips and you opened your mouth and poked your tongue out, expressing your eagerness.

"That's right" he moaned, allowing his tip to finally connect to your tongue. A few seconds later, he lowered himself even more, so you could now easily bop your head up and down his cock.

This position, although fulfilling a number of your fantasies, put a strain in your neck, and looking up at him was more difficult than you would have liked. So you settled on thoroughly sucking him. With your cheeks hallowed around his cock and your tongue pressed flat against its underside, you were determined to have him panting your name as he came. When you pulled back and took a deep breath, you looked up, and your eyes landed on the camera of your phone being pointed down at you.

Your cheeks flushed.

"Now you know who you belong to, but I gotta make sure that north side asshole knows too"

-

SEND ME MORE SMUT IDEAS!!!!!!

[adiwriting]

@litwitlady​ requested more Isobel, so here you go.

As always, prompts for this verse are open. Drop them in my inbox or message me. (gif by @darlingnotso​ <3 ) 

PSA: I’ve been struggling all week with how to continue writing Malex given my current emotions about the TB situation. And I realized that not creating anymore isn’t going to help anyone. What WILL help is putting money towards relief for Native Americans. So from this point forward, every time I post a fic, I am going to be donating $$ to the Navajo Nation COVID-19 Relief Fund and if you are willing and able, I invite you to do the same. 

Week 14: 

Michael is laying in bed with Alex, both of them just starting to wake up after a late night. Alex had performed at open mic night and then Maria had offered up a round of shots. One round of shots quickly became several and after an Uber home, they’d continued drinking over a very competitive game of strip poker, that Alex had lost spectacularly at. So when the puppies start barking incessantly from the other room, Michael can only groan. 

A moment later, the doorbell rings. 

“No,” he grumbles and Alex whines. Neither of them make a move to leave the bed when the doorbell rings again. 

Michael looks over at Alex expectantly, and Alex’s only response is to wave at his leg, helplessly. 

Michael snorts. “Interesting how you are so ready to pull the disability card when it comes to things like this, but when you’ve been on your feet for hours and I’m offering you a chair, it’s all, ‘I can do anything anyone else can do, twice. Three times on Saturday.” 

Alex continues to smile at him until Michael rolls his eyes and gets out of bed. The moment he vacates his spot, Bell jumps into bed and cuddles up next to Alex. 

“Traitor,” Michael tells her, with no real malice behind it. He’s glad to see that she’s getting more comfortable with them both every week that she’s here. 

He slips into last night's jeans, zipping them up but ignoring the button. Whoever is at the door can deal with it. He’s not planning on being in his clothes for long. 

“Bring me a coffee on your way back,” Alex tells him with the most adorable smile that he doesn’t even flip him off playfully like he normally would at such a request. Instead he kneels on the bed and leans over Bell to give him a kiss. 

The doorbell rings a third time and the puppies go crazy. 

“Alright, I hear you,” he says, standing back up and heading out the door. 

He rubs his eyes and he makes his way through the house. He peeks into the kitchen. The moment the puppies see him, they start jumping over each other, trying to hop the baby gate to get out, barking to get his attention. 

“Give me a minute,” he tells them as he reaches the door. 

The doorbell rings again and Michael curses as he opens it, annoyed to see Isobel on the other side. 

“You couldn’t just use your powers to unlock the door yourself?” he grumbles, confused at the grocery bags in her hand. He’s 100% sure he didn’t agree to her coming over today.

“Your neighbor’s watching and being super creepy. I got nervous,” she says. 

Michael looks over her shoulder and rolls his eyes when he realizes who she is talking about. 

“Asshole,” he explains before raising his hand with a fake smile. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Register!” Through his teeth, he adds, for Isobel’s enjoyment, “not a single one of her flowers are gonna bloom this year. She reported us to the HOA last week.” 

“Why?” Isobel asks, perfect mix of annoyed and confused. “Your guys house could be the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.”

Mrs. Register glares at him before heading back into her house, at which point he flips her off. 

“She claims our fence is too tall,” he says, stepping out of the way so she can come inside. 

“Was it?” she asks, heading for the kitchen. The dogs go crazy when they enter. Isobel greets them all, pulling treats out of her pocket for them. Determined as ever to buy their affections. 

“No,” he says offended. “You think I would install a fence that wasn’t the proper height? I told her I’d cut it down if she wanted to see all the queer sex we have in the backyard. She’s a homophobic bitch who’s pissed off that I moved in.”

“So you moved in!” she asks, squealing in delight so loudly that he rolls his eyes. 

“No,” he answers quickly to cover up his slip. He’s certainly been calling Alex’s place home for weeks now, but he doesn’t live here. Not yet. Not until Alex brings it up. It was his space first and Michael doesn’t want to intrude or push too hard or too fast. “You know what I mean,” he says, hoping she’ll drop it. 

Thankfully she does. She starts unpacking her bags and he leans against the counter to watch. Trying to figure out what it is that she thinks she’s doing. He’s well past the days where he needed Isobel to stock his fridge for him. 

“So you did your little weed-o-magic curse on her?” she asks. 

“Trust me, the woman deserves far worse, but it’s all Alex will let me do,” he complains, taking the eggs from her and putting them in the fridge. 

“Well luckily, my orgasms don’t depend on being in Alex’s good graces.” Michael makes a face. He doesn’t want to hear about his sister’s orgasms. “I’ll let the air out of her tires on the way out.” 

He smiles at that. After some of the hateful things the lady has said to Alex and him, it’s what she deserves. “You’re my favorite sibling,” he says. 

“I know.” She smiles at him, patting his cheek lovingly. 

He hears the creak of the bedroom door open down the hall and sighs. If Alex is up, his hopes of crawling back into bed are slowly fading. 

“Are you going to explain why you’re waking us up on a Sunday?” he asks as Alex appears at the baby gate, puppies yelping to get out. Alex opens the gate and moves to the back door to let the dogs outside. 

“Everyone else is gonna be here in an hour. I figured I’d help you get the house ready,” she says. 

“Ready for what exactly?” Alex asks, returning to the kitchen. He leans against the counter and Michael shuffles over so that he can lean against him. 

“We’re having family brunch here,” she says, like it’s no big deal. 

“What?” he asks, as if he misheard her. He heard her just fine, but he doesn’t accept. He did not agree to this. 

“Our Sunday family brunch,” she says, like that somehow constitutes an explanation. 

He looks over at Alex who mutters, “I better go find pants.” 

“Oh I don’t know Captain Manes, I think you look delicious,” she says batting her eyelashes in a way that Michael knows is teasing but he still steps in front of Alex to shield him from her view. 

“Stop flirting with my boyfriend and get your own,” Michael tells her. Alex’s hands find their way around his waist and Micheal leans into the touch. 

“You’re no fun,” she says, turning back to put the rest of the groceries away. 

“Iz, explain,” Michael tells her. 

“We’re having brunch.” She smiles at him without an ounce of remorse even though Michael knows that she knows exactly what she’s doing. 

Alex snorts. 

“Okay, now explain it like we are 5,” Michael says, fighting back an amused smile. He is not going to be happy about this, no matter how hilariously persistent she is. She’s a brat and he isn’t going to encourage her. She’s ruining his Sunday. 

“You said that, under no circumstances, were you leaving this house today,” she tells him, crossing her arms, daring him to challenge her on her interpretation of his words. 

He shakes his head as Alex whispers, “I told you to not to leave her a loophole to climb through.” 

Michael looks over his shoulder at Alex, who is fighting back a smile, clearly having already settled on amused instead of annoyed. 

“I hate you,” he says, rubbing his face in defeat. 

“I love you, too,” she says with a laugh. “Now button up your pants and go find a shirt that isn’t covered in last night’s sexual activities. 

“It happened one time,” Alex grumbles into his ear and Michael laughs. 

“You’re doing all of the cooking and the cleanup,” Michael tells her. 

Isobel shrugs. “Done.” 

“We’re going to go get ready,” Michael says, taking Alex’s hand and walking out of the kitchen. 

On the way out, Alex turns to her and says, “We aren’t making a habit of this.” 

Isobel raises her hand in a salute and says, “Whatever you say, Captain.” 

The challenge in both Alex and Isobel’s eyes has Michael groaning. Michael lets the puppies back in and then heads back to the bedroom with Alex. 

“You shouldn’t goad her,” Michael complains. “If you give her a challenge, she won’t back down. She doesn’t know how to lose.” 

“Babe, I’ve been to actual war. I think I can handle your sister,” he says. 

Michael shakes his head. No matter what Alex may have seen in Iraq, he’s never really had to combat Isobel in full on event planning mode. 

“I’ll be sure to say nice things at your funeral,” Michael jokes. 

Bell whimpers at them as they start pulling clothes out of the closet. 

“Sorry girl,” Michael tells her. “We won’t be spending the day with you.” 

Bell turns her head to look at Alex, expression hopeful, if that’s even possible for a dog. 

Alex shakes his head. Bell puts her head back on the pillow and shimmies until the blanket is covering all of her. 

“She’s got the right idea,” Michael says with a laugh, trading out his old jeans for a clean pair. 

“It’s not so bad.” Alex sits on the bed to get his prosthetic on. 

“Isobel’s brunches from hell aren’t so bad?” Michael says, eyes going wide in comedic shock. “Did Alex Manes just admit that he likes a party?” 

“It’s not a party, it’s a family brunch,” he argues. “It’s kind of nice. You know?” 

Michael does know. It’s the kind of thing neither of them had growing up. 

“I still get to be mad about the lack of morning sex though, right?” 

Alex laughs. “Always.” 

Tagged: @callieramics​, @redstalkingdeath​ @alexmaanes

(wanna be tagged? hit me up)

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Falling From Grace- Part 2: Deleted Scenes

Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael have a prophecy to fulfill. They might not have always been Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael but they have always been brothers in the fight. Mythology!sos. Each guy is a God reincarnated from various mythologies. 

See the full story. 

Enjoy my masterlist

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No one has my permission to repost this fic, including translations. All rights reserved. Copyright © be-ready-when-i-say-go.

_____________________________

He’s known the museum sitting there for years now. He’s just never step foot into it. Felt way too close to home knowing that statues of people he actually knows sit about. But Ashton walts in this time. It could be fun he figures. It’s not like anyone knows him, knows his connection. So with his hair tied back for the moment, Ashton pays admission and starts about the exhibits. Most of the place is way too pristine. The white walls look more like a hospital and it feels like one too but much less sorrowful. He keeps his hands tucked into the pocket of his pants, restricting the yearning to touch some of the frames. 

He misses the frill, the extravagant gold accents on his usual robes. The frames are the closet he’s going to get right now. Ashton follows the line down before rounding the corner and finding him at the door of another exhibit. Busts line the walls and he grins to himself. He recognizes these faces, knows them all too well, even if they are in white marble. Some are chipped, the wear and tear of time never being the most merciful force in the universe. 

Ashton poses in front of the first statue, mimicking the facial expression. He sends the photo to the group chat. This guy was a dick. Or is a dick, still, I guess is more correct. He moves down to the second bust, pulling a face similar to the one sculpted. Less of a dick, he types, grinning to himself. He takes a photo with the last bust, furrowing his brows, and pulling down the corner of his lips. Less of a dick than the first two. Guy’s still not my favorite. 

A couple of minutes later his phone buzzes. Michael’s replied, I’m saving these for evidence. You’ve been warned. 

They hate me anyway, so good luck with that.

Damn it. Why do all the Greek Gods hate each other so fucking much?

Because we do. It’s our Brand™. 

Alright Meme Lord. 

Ashton chuckles, pocketing his phone. As he walks through the rest of the museum he ponders what else to do with the photos? Should they just sit forever in the groupchat? What’s the real harm in posting them? He doesn’t have to put a caption. If he’s going to live in this life then he’s going to live it to its fullest. 

As Ashton settles back onto the cushions of his house, he hovers over the post button. He’s had the pictures sitting for ages in the post. Nothing’s going to happen to him. The Gods aren’t going to smite him, for all their seriousness, humor is not lost on them. Just post it, he thinks to himself. It is not the end of the world. He’s all acquainted with how that goes. His thumb twitches, the posts loads before the screen changes. There, staring back up at him, is his own face next to faces he’s always seen in the flesh. 

Maybe it’s a bad idea. Panic starts to hits his chest. His phone buzzes. It’s Calum. I know you, mate. Saw the photos. They’re funny. Don’t worry. Ashton starts to draft his response, tell them how he needs to delete the photos before another messages comes in. If you delete them, it’s more suspicious. Leave them be. We are human right now. What’s the point of having this humanity and not using it.

Calum is right. Ashton exhales, deleting all the panicked message and replacing it with a simple, Thanks. 

_________

Michael finds himself as the next one in a museum. This time not as accidental as Ashton’s trip. He decided to go out for the day, see some sights, to get away. They need a break. Recording and writing, more writing, more recording. He just wants to shut his brain off for a moment, just enjoy his time while it’s still mostly his. As he’s walking through the exhibits, awestruck by the use of colors and the line work that’s still incorporated into the final details of the piece, he jokingly poses in front of some pieces. He’s only doing it for the jokes, the giggle behind the camera. 

But at the conclusion of his journey through art, he realizes that some of those poses were pretty spot on. He posts the set of recreations with the caption, Immerse yourself. Become art. He wants to add more. You are art. Everyone is art. Everything is art. There’s an art in just existing, in just breathing when everything feels like it’s telling you not to breathe, to not exist. However he figures it best to stay positive, to keep it light and funny. He’s becoming art and that reminds him, even in all the struggle of making this album he still has a duty to himself. 

So he leaves it at just that. Become art. Becoming is the best part of existence. He can become anyone. He can become anything, even if in some ways he is still restricted by another’s diction. He will always becoming something in this human form. He hopes he never stops becoming either, even in the old age when bones are more brittle. 

__ Everyone’s buzzing about Marvel. It’s always somewhere in the corners of the internet the correct way to watch the movies. Calum’s never been one to delve head first into this. But Michael enjoys it and rather than tune out his friend’s interest, he suspends all he knows and finds the action scenes and the comradery admirable. Even if people are robots made out of blue scraps, and someone’s a purple giant, and there’s two green people. But only one’s technically the alien and the other deems himself an abomination.

It’s not very amusing when the interviewer jokes about potentially spoiling the movie. Calum can tell Michael’s a little on edge. So he jokes, “Is Spiderman in it?”

“Yeah, I haven’t even watched the trailer because I don’t wanna spoil it,” Michael replies, looking down at the slight furrowed brow of the brown man slouched, picking at his nails. 

“Is Spiderman in it?” Ashton echoes. 

Calum speaks up again, “Is it Toby?” HIs face in deadpanned. He knows Michael will think he is serious. 

Michael for a second is shocked, voice dripping with disbelief. “What? No.” He watches the very faint smile that overtakes Calum’s face and then laughs. Of course Calum would ask that. He knows it’s not Toby but it got a chuckle out of Michael. 

Calum faces forward, staring directly into the camera, like in The Office. Not too many people will catch onto the joke, the play that just happened. But it’s fine. It’s for Michael anyway. The stab about spoilers wasn’t funny to anyone and rather than let that tension grow, Calum knew he had to break it somehow. This then spurs Ashton onto a rant about how Toby is better. 

Calum interjects, mostly at Michael, “I like Tom, but I like Toby more.”

Later on, after all the interviews are done, they settle into the dark of the theater. They laugh, they gasp, they admittedly cry. Though it only maybe only a couple of tears and no one would admit it, it’s still a shock. Calum pulls out his phone, Why is Gamora? He decides to focus on the positive, on the laughs. Though the question itself is still a very valid one. Why is anyone? Why the question purpose, and sometimes the most difficult one to ask. Why anything? Why the four of them? Why is it so humid in Singapore? The t-shirt, that Calum figured would be thin enough, does not provide much circulation. His pits feel like a swamp, the leather to the couch they’ve been sat on for the last two days takes no prisoners either. 

Calum has learned, however, that he can question why until he turns blue in the face? He could analyze every interaction, every word in existence and it would still only lead him to more questions. He doesn’t let that stop him from question some things but he tries not to question too many things. There is some, while it is scary, serenity in knowing that one does not have all the answers. He is allowed to question Why is Gamora and it is nothing more than a funny piece of dialogue from a widely accepted heart wrenching movie and it will provide answers of its own accord, at its own pace. All he simply must do is walk into a dark theater. 

________

“So we can see, Calum out there has had a long day,” Luke starts, shirtless, watching out onto the balcony where Calum, “on the treacherous waters.”

“He was fishing for Tilapia,” Ashton interjects. 

“Catch Calum on the newest season of Deadliest Catch,” Luke concludes. He doesn’t find himself to be the funniest guy, but every so often he likes to get in a joke. 

Ashton opens the door, “You okay, buddy?” Calum’s earnest glance back makes all three men laugh on camera, including a small chuckle from Andy, who’s behind the camera. It makes Luke happy, that just for a moment, they aren’t too serious. Even though this is work, steaming his voice before a show, and he’s currently unsure of what he’s going to wear tonight, there is some play. 

Later on, after the adventure in Cream Soda, venturing down the dark streets, Luke pulls Michael to the back of the group for an ‘interview’. It quickly goes down south. They continue on down the street. The saying all work and no play makes Jack dull is right. So they make sure to have fun, even if it’s in the backseat of the car, shakily hitting a falsetto about Shake Shack. It reminds them all, but Luke especially to try and shake the bad times off. 

The whole year creating the album broke, and maybe in some ways, created chains and burdens. Expectations is the worst thing they’ve ever faced. They’re always expected to restore balance to the cosmos. That is an old cross they bear. But it is strange now to be so far into the limelight, to be told that they are expected to work almost endlessly day in and day out without allowing themselves the truth of the situation. They grow tired. They grow weary. 

They sing in falsetto though. They make sure to have these small moments to be strange and to be weird to remind themselves they are bound to humanness. They are not exempt from doubt even with the expectation to be superheros in the eye of the music world, even though they know normally they are able in deity form do miracles things, that are incredibly human right now. And it’s okay to have this tender moments. They’ve earned them. 

[tassium]

#TAYLOR SWIFT APPRECIATION LIFE

PART 5 - 1989

(part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)

Back at it again with that @taylorswift love! We’ve finally reached the ICONIC 5th studio album 1989. I’m excited for this one!

Let’s do this thing.

(editor’s note: I wrote up my comments on the first four tracks of this album and tumblr promptly ate them, so we’re going to try this again.)

1. Welcome to New York

Taylor is very talented at knowing just how to kick off an album perfectly, and this is absolutely no exception to that. I love that light clapping percussion and the droning bassline and that synth or keyboard or whatever it is. And her vocals!! That waver at the top of the end of “girls and girls” just gets me, and those low hiding harmonies that are in there but only just barely audible. There’s something about this song that really does a good job of portraying that kind of awe and wonder that you’d expect to be tied to arriving in New York and seeing the bright lights big city aspect.

2. Blank Space

I love so much that Taylor used this song to take that persona that the media had created for her and just be line “well, if you insist.” On top of that, I just love this song in general, it’s such a well done, solid pop track. I don’t know what instrument that is doing that light ringing lead melody in the music, but it’s so good for the mood of the song. The drums are so full sounding, and her background vocals honestly are like a part of the backing track. Also can we talk about the little mini vibrato in the bridge and that descending low melody at the end while her explosive higher vocals come in? Beautiful. (Don’t even get me started on the pen click or tongue click or whatever that sound’s supposed to be)

3. Style

I love how the music supports the lyrics in this track - the sound of the instrumentals really puts you in the mind of a drive through a midnight city, lights flashing by, while she’s singing about exactly that. There’s just the right amount of darkness in the music itself to supposed what’s happening in the narrative. I love love love the descending harmony behind those select lines on the chorus, and then of course the power in “just take me home” at the end, and such a strong ending on top of that. So good.

4. Out of the Woods

I have to admit, this song doesn’t really do it for me. It’s not a bad song by any means, but it’s just not my favorite. If I’m in the right mood I’ll be more into it, but overall... It’s just a little too repetitive in the chorus for me, and I’m not keen enough on the track in general to ignore it. She does some really cool things with the lyrics (screaming color is a great phrase, and the percussion drives the song along really well (I love the way it speeds up at certain points) but yeah. She’s cute, but not my fave.

5. All You Had to Do Was Stay

Ohhh this song. I have spent many hours driving and angrily singing along to this song. It’s the perfect bitter breakup song, and I love it for that. Her vocal is beautiful, and I distinctly remember the first time I heard this song and the high note “stay”s blew me away. Not only are they not easy notes to hit, but that ringing quality to them is just beautiful. I love the variation on the melody that she throws into the final chorus - a common technique for Taylor, but one that I never get tired of - and the ending of just that one “Stay” with no instruments behind it is just perfect.

6. Shake It Off

Ahhhhhh, the iconic lead single. I love this track so much. There’s nothing like a song that literally gives you permission to dance as badly as you want to - this is optimal dancing weirdly in the kitchen music, and I think by now we all know exactly how I feel about that. There are so many things I love about this song, from the excellent choice of putting brass in the backing track to Taylor’s vocal performance. She really delivered on the vocals in this song, that one note is still iconic, and all the ad libs on the way out of the song fill me with joy.

Plus, I’m posting this on the throwback Thursday where she performed it again for GMA! gotta represent for that, because it was a great performance.

7. I Wish You Would

This is another one of the songs that’s not the highest on my list. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, it’s a very well crafted song, but it’s just not my cup of tea. (I do have to say that little a cappella bit before they drop back into the full instrumental is A+)

8. Bad Blood

Was anyone else kinda disappointed at the addition of the Kendrick Lamar feature in the music video? It felt really unnecessary to me, but maybe that’s just a me thing. I just vastly prefer the original version. 

That beat, though. I love a good driving beat, and honestly I think that almost country ring in the background of the song (not sure how they did that exactly) somehow fits in really well, even though it’s in the middle of an album that is very decidedly pop. Taylor’s performance is very emotive, it really pulls in all the hurt and betrayal from the lyrics.

Honestly, though, I can’t unhear Should’ve Said No laced in here after seeing her on the rep tour.

9. Wildest Dreams

This was the track where I realized that Taylor’s range had surpassed my own, which honestly was something I didn’t expect to happen (not sure why it surprised me so much). She does such a beautiful job with this song, with that breathy quality she applies to her vocals and the almost misty feeling in the track in general that makes it really feel like a dreamscape. Of course, as I’ve already stated, I’m a sucker for final choruses getting leaned on just a little harder, and that song delivers that beautifully.

10. How You Get The Girl

This song inspired a significant part of one of my writing projects! I’m very fond of it, not just because of that. I’m not gonna lie, this one is a bop. That chorus! I can’t not dance to this one; even now, sitting at my computer I’m jamming out. There’s such good use of silence and wall-of-sound in this song, the way the drums come in and out, and just the way the music seems to back away at some points to let Taylor’s vocals shine. And! It’s just a very dancey song, and it makes me happy!

11. This Love

Speaking of atmospheric songs... That reverb on her voice, and the softness of the opening makes me think of a misty shoreline on a dim morning. (in fairness I might have an overactive imagination even now). The background vocals on the end, the “this love”s in all the different pitches and qualities... Mmm. Beautiful. Definitely one of my favorite tracks on the album.

12. I Know Places

Okay. Realistically I know that any number of large scale music players could have buttons that make that sound from the beginning, but for some reason when I hear that I immediately think of a cassette player. I don’t know if that was Taylor’s intent, but it worked on me if it was.

This is very very high on my list of favorite on this album, and primarily for the vocal performance Taylor delivers on it. There is such complex harmonic stuff going on in this song, and I can’t tell for sure if it’s all just her, but it sounds like it. There’s so many little things in various spots on this song that hit me right in the feels somehow, way too many for me to pinpoint in this post. One of those things, though, is definitely the way it drops down to just the piano and her vocalization at the very end, and then the beat of quiet before the button press sound comes again.

13. Clean

This song is not only beautiful in composition but also in lyrical content. The words of this song get to me in such a deep way - her metaphors are outstanding. The wine-stained dress, the butterflies turning to dust, the comparison of a relationship to an addiction? There’s so much.

This is also another of Taylor’s songs that hits me hard emotionally, for a number of reasons. There’s something so ethereal to this song as a whole, all the way through, and it makes my heart ache in a really good way.

time for the bonus tracks! for obvious reasons I won’t be commenting on the voice memos.

14. Wonderland

I love the intro to this song, with that ringing alternating note that carries into the background of the rest of the song. And then!! There’s the prechorus!! With that wooOOSH up into the beat drop!! It’s so perfect. The synths and use of dynamics in this song give me LIFE. And then there’s That Note that she hits, that bending power note.

I also love this metaphor, of being with someone as being in wonderland and that automatic connection in my brain to Alice.

15. You Are In Love

This song starts so softly, and with the way her voice is so gentle and breathy, it feels almost like a lullaby. I want to know what that instrument is in the prechorus, that plinking sort of noise - I can’t tell if it’s a stringed something or other or a percussive instrument, but it’s gorgeous. Ultimately, this song is the most beautiful depiction of being in love that I’ve heard in a very long time - that line about “you’re my best friend” and knowing he’s in love from that gives me hearteyes every time. She’s so good with the metaphors!!

And learning that she wrote this about a couple she knows just makes it even more intense.

16. New Romantics

Favorite bonus track! I love this song so much, and I usually forget that it’s a bonus track in the first place. This track feels a little reminiscent of the feeling in 22, but like the most matured and experienced version - this is like the older, more experienced world-wise cousin of 22, to me. This song feels like the perfect cap for this album, because it’s like.... To me it’s like the continuation of Welcome to New York. This is the sequel, after settling into NY and letting some of the plastic shine wear off.

We've done it again! In spite of tumblr trying to eat this post and completely demoralizing me at the beginning, we’ve made it to the end of 1989.

Next up: reputation (I’m so excited for this one!)

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 1 ♫ “The World Will Never Be the Same” [ 1.12 ]

CREATED BY Esther (rapunzles) & Maggie (quincywillows)

WHILE THE WALLS COME TUMBLING DOWN – The auditions for the coveted summer immersion program unfold. Riley and Lucas attend the Jacobs Arts Gala, while Zay and Charlie make bold choices. Farkle makes a statement, and the sophomore class realizes that in real life, there are no rehearsals.

66 Minutes (18K words) || No warnings apply.

[ ← Before the Storm ] [ S1 Synopsis ] [ Season 2 → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

Cue title sequence.

Over the opening titles, we hear Farkle murmuring to himself and clearly trying to get something in order. As the title sequence fades to black, it seems like he’s got it figured out.

Farkle: Okay. I think – okay. Here goes nothing…

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Open on a tight screen, emulating the format of an iPhone video. FARKLE MINKUS is alone in the costume loft for a semblance of privacy, the camera in selfie mode. He’s preparing to record, and clearly a man on a mission.

He appears more polished than we’ve seen yet, back in his sharpest blazer and with his hair neatly coiffed although still somewhat untamed. It’s a complete u-turn from how he was starting to mellow over the course of the season.

When he starts to speak, however, that put together facade quickly loses some of its credibility. As he figures out what he wants to say, he’s a bit manic. He’s himself, but also not quite himself at all. Something is off, but he’s indisputably in a frenzy. That much is certain.

As he starts to speak, the purpose of his video becomes clear – and the fact that he doesn’t necessarily intend it to be meant just for him.

Farkle: Obviously, I don’t want my name on all this, but – I don’t know. I’ll leave it up to you to decide how to lay it all out there. You’re good at that. I’m just recording rather than typing because… [ a breath ] It’s a lot. There’s a lot I have to say. So, without further ado: a conclusive series of explanations as to why Farkle Minkus was robbed of a coveted Kossal audition spot, when he deserves it more than anyone else. And here’s why.

This can’t end well. Farkle is impassioned as he kicks off his rant, and as he shifts focus to each subject of his tirade…

INT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - DAY

… we’ll be following them while his monologue voices over it. He starts off guns blazing with his former best friend, MAYA HART. She’s in the midst of getting ready for school, rehearsing her Kossal audition number as she goes. She’s practicing 24/7 at this point, she may very well be singing in her sleep.

But she’s also obsessive over it. She’ll hate the way one note came out and start the whole thing over from the beginning, becoming increasingly frustrated with herself. Trying incredibly hard to get that vocal power just right.

Farkle: So, let’s get the obvious out of the way. Maya Hart. Sure, Maya has the vocal chops, and she can do runs for days. But is that really deserving of an audition slot on its own merit? When other candidates were clearly as good, if not better? I mean, we’ve all heard me – I mean, Farkle – sing, I think we can attribute that there’s a clear superior performer between the two.

As she grabs her bag and reaches for her phone, she checks her message thread with Farkle. Their conversation has gone totally dry, the two not having exchanged words since the Kossal school-wide picks went up. However, there’s an ongoing message in her chat box, depicting that she’s been drafting a message for a while to send him.

It’s somewhere between a lecture and an apology. Somewhere between being pissed at him for being so selfish and not being happy for her, but also sincerely sorry that he didn’t get the opportunity when she thinks he deserves it too. Not enough to give it up herself, of course, but definitely starlet empathy. More than anything, it’s clear that she wants to talk to him. She wants them to be friends again.

In the end, she deletes it. Opting not to say anything at all.

As she heads out the door, she passes KATY HART, who is at the tiny kitchen table. She’s working with the sewing machine and doing painstaking alterations to Maya’s audition dress, having basically made it herself.

Farkle: So then, why Maya, if their criteria are so similar? Well, one might go for the obvious gender route, but it’s much more likely that the administration felt their scholarship student might need a little bit more of a boost. Yes, that’s right, Maya is on scholarship – insane, considering how terrible her grades are, am I right? But you know, it’s true, nothing is more compelling a support system than sympathy…

Maya gives her a kiss on the cheek as she leaves, thanking her for working on the dress. Katy pats her cheek, sending her on her way.

INT. RILEY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Next up is RILEY MATTHEWS, starting off her day by adjusting pieces of her moodboard. She’s pinning up her honorary invitation to the Jacobs gala – right next to the “you’re better” notes exchange. She lets her gaze linger on both, a smiling brightening her face as she pulls her bag onto her shoulder.

Farkle: Speaking of sympathy, there’s a lot of that at play when it comes to Riley Matthews. Not necessarily towards her – I mean, who needs sympathy when you’ve got so many power players in your court to uplift you whether or not you earned it. Think about it, her father is a teacher, her uncle is counselor and essentially second principal and was, in fact, one of the four on the panel for judging. So of course they’re going to give a spot to Riley, especially given how much dirty work she’s done for them this year…

On her way out, she touches the beautiful lavender evening gown hanging on the back of her door. It’s clear she’s far more excited about the gala than she was before.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Focus shifts from Riley to LUCAS FRIAR, not in the technician’s booth but the boys dressing room. It may be the first time he’s ever willingly stepped foot in the space.

He’s in front of the mirror, fumbling with his hair in an attempt to make it look presentable. This is likely the most effort he has ever put into his appearance, and it’s clear he’s not having an easy time of it. No matter how much he fusses with it to make it look neater, he’s not pleased with it.

Farkle: I mean, why else would she put in the effort to befriend jackass Lucas James Friar, other than by special request from her favorite counselor uncle in an attempt to make sure he doesn’t make a hit list or some shit considering he’s so openly pathetic. Riley Matthews doesn’t need sympathy, but she’s sure good at giving it…

A text comes through on his phone, disrupting his stress. It’s from his mother. “Let me know about MC ASAP please. App deadline this weekend.”

Lucas takes this reminder in, glancing at himself in the mirror once again. Still fundamentally dissatisfied. Lots to think about… lots riding on his hair not looking like a mess…

INT. FOSTER HOME - KITCHEN - DAY

For ISADORA DE LA CRUZ, the morning involves dodging her younger foster siblings as she tries to get half a meal in before rushing off to school. TESSA CHAN bumps into her while chasing JULIAN NORTH (12) around the kitchen, causing her to snap at them both.

She grabs her phone before she heads out, checking another text from Riley. It’s clear she’s gotten quite a few from her over the past few days, essentially begging her to take her audition slot for Kossal. An interesting choice…

Farkle: Which explains why of all the people she could be attempting to pawn off her audition slot to, she picks Isadora Smackle. Oh, sorry, I mean De La Cruz. She’s had a rough year, with all her famous mom business coming out, so I guess it makes sense that she deserves one shot to prove she actually can live up to the family business without having to do any work for it. Sucks that it’s so late notice her best friend won’t even be there, as he’ll be too busy on his pity date with Riley. How tragic.

Isadora doesn’t answer, shuffling out the door.

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

ZAY BABINEAUX is rehearsing his routine for the auditions, clearly having been in the studio for more than an hour or so already. He’s drenched in sweat, shaking his head, his nerves throwing him off. He can only practice it so many times over before it starts to fall apart.

Farkle: I’d mention Zay, but considering he’s always bragging about how he’s so above all the drama, I guess we’ll see how he feels when he’s not mentioned at all. He does claim to be so constantly overlooked, after all.

Zay finishes another round, obviously not happy with it. He collapses into a sitting position, tugging at his hair before hiding his head against his knees. Pushing himself to the brink.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Farkle rounds out the rant, letting out a resounding exhale. Considering how breathlessly he delivered it, it’s amazing he didn’t pass out. He concludes the recording by sharing the same sentiments he declared all the way back at the start of the year – he’s the next big thing, he’s not going anywhere, and this belongs to him. Regardless of what other people have decided or what other factors try to get in his way. And no one should ever damn forget it.

As he ends the recording, the screen returns to normal. Farkle takes a moment to save the video, preparing to send it. After a moment, it becomes clear to whom: AAA Confessions.

He types out a quick message explaining again that he simply recorded the video because there was a lot of content to type, they should put them into separate posts and do whatever with the images, etc. He doesn’t want credit, he just wants these truths known.

A second of hesitation conveys that Farkle isn’t as war-mongering as he seems. While his thumb hovers over the send button, there’s the distinct feeling that he knows this can’t be the right avenue for dealing with things. There’s a part of him who wants to take it back before he even puts it out there.

Yet, he hits send anyway. He releases a huge sigh, exiting out of the private messages and checking the page for himself. It’s been abnormally quiet the last week or so, no new posts present since Wyatt was brought in for questioning. Some are even wondering if the page is dead for good. It’s not clear whether Farkle believes that or not.

While he feels a bit cleansed just to vent all of his frustrations, he doesn’t seem nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be. Something still feels empty.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” as performed by Tears For Fears || Performed by Farkle Minkus

The opening tones of the track trickle in as Farkle makes his way down the ladder of the costume loft, back into the darkened and empty auditorium.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

He launches into the song as he makes his way into the glow from the ghost light at center stage, illuminating him in shadow. In spite of its upbeat vibe, Farkle’s rendition of the song speaks truthfully to the ominous undertones that the lyrics provide.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Farkle continues the solo as he parades through the halls. The school is shifting around them, gearing up for summer. The remnants of sophomore year are tumbling down… nothing ever lasts forever…

As Farkle wraps the track, he saunters backwards and disappears into the crowd of students. Focus shifts to CHARLIE GARDNER instead, heading towards the studio classrooms. He’s carrying a thermos and moving with an impressive amount of enthusiasm for so early in the morning. As he finds the correct studio and steps through the door –

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Charlie enters just as Zay is wrapping up another run through of his audition, having managed to pull himself out of a heap on the floor to do it again. Charlie hangs back for a moment to watch, entranced as usual, before he announces his arrival. It totally disrupts Zay’s flow, causing him to jog and turn off the music.

As they get to talking and Charlie asks how it’s going, Zay’s nerves about the audition become more evident. He’s frustrated that he keeps messing up steps, somehow he’s always a couple beats behind or ahead, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s totally wigging out, which he never has before.

Charlie reassures him, placing the thermos on the piano top with Zay’s speaker so that he can grab his shoulders and tell him to get a grip. He’s stressing way too hard for someone so naturally gifted, and there’s no way the judges aren’t going to like whatever he does.

Charlie: I mean, at this point with Riley maybe or maybe not participating and Maya distracted by beefing with Farkle, you could probably walk on that stage and do Teach Me How to Dougie and they’d still pick you.

Zay: It’s just “dougie” – nevermind, I don’t have the energy to explain this to you.

Zay laughs mockingly, not buying it. Charlie claims he’s got a pretty light week, so if it would be useful, he can put in the time to help him rehearse.

Zay: You really don’t have to do that.

Charlie: Nah, it’s cool. I want to.

So now we’re doing things because we want to, huh? Charlie grabs the thermos as Zay gathers his things, handing it to him when they’re back together. He questions it at first, before Charlie goes on to explain that it’s his mother’s chicken soup recipe. It’s basically a certified energizer potion, and he knew he’d been working himself to the bone so he figured he might need it.

Zay: [ after taking a sip ] This is like witchcraft. I thought you Catholics didn’t believe in that nonsense.

Charlie can’t help but laugh, patting Zay on the shoulder as the two of them head to class.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Riley is at her locker, killing time before class but keeping a careful eye out in the halls. She double takes when she spots Lucas leaving the dressing room hall, quickly closing her locker and jogging to catch up to him.

He slows down and turns to look for her when she calls his name, waiting for her to reach him. The two of them keep walking as she greets him enthusiastically, before getting distracted.

Riley: Did you do something new with your hair?

Lucas: What? Oh, no. No, uh, just [ with air quotes ] “woke up like this,” or whatever.

Riley: Oh. Well, it looks nice. You’re still coming on Friday, right?

Lucas: Planning on it. Unless you were thinking – ?

Riley: No! No, no change of plans. Just wanted to confirm. I’ll text you deets later today, Eric is supposed to give me the whole spiel this afternoon.

Lucas: Okay. Cool.

Riley: Cool… yeah. Yeah, cool. Super cool.

Lucas asks if Riley was able to figure out the whole conflict with the Kossal audition. He reiterates that she should go to that if she wants to and shouldn’t even bother with the gala just because she already extended an invitation to him, but she waves him off. She states that she’s working on the fix, but as far as she’s concerned she’s going to the gala – audition resolved or not. So he shouldn’t make any other plans.

As she flutters away, Lucas watches her go. He can’t help but smile a bit before he heads in the other direction.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Maya is on the front steps with DARBY WINTERS, SARAH CARLSON, and CHAI FRESCO, back to her old throng now that she and Farkle have cut ties. She’s holding court while Darby plays with her hair, trying out some new styles for her upcoming audition. Chai and Sarah are researching makeup palettes, but Maya vetoes everything they come up with. It’s clear she has no idea what her “look” is going to be like, and this is because of the fact that her dress isn’t finished yet.

Chai points out that it’s taking an awfully long time for her to get her aesthetic together, considering the audition is in like three days. Shouldn’t she know her dress by now? Maya manages to redirect, claiming she’s best when she’s working on the fly. The dress is simply taking so long because it’s being custom-made by a New York designer that she has connections with as a favor. She doesn’t want to rush an artist.

Sarah and Darby are impressed and chatter about it, but Chai doesn’t look all that convinced as she goes back to makeup palettes.

Farkle appears at the other end of the hall, locking eyes with Maya when she raises her head from her phone. They hold eye contact for a long moment, but neither of them move to say anything. Farkle heads in the other direction.

Darby pulls her hair too tightly, pulling her out of the moment. She winces and slaps at Darby’s hand, earning a quick apology from her.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

ANGELA MOORE is seated across from JACK HUNTER, the mood bittersweet. She’s finalizing her resignation paperwork.

Jack reminds her that it’s hardly an official goodbye, as he has the paperwork for her part-time position right there on his desk. She laughs anxiously, grateful for his attempt at making this feel less serious than it is. She admits that she mostly just can’t believe that she’s trying her hand at this crazy dream again.

He reaches out and pats her hand, assuring her that she is one of the most talented people he has ever met. She has what it takes, just like any of the students they teach every day. Angela clearly takes the sentiment to heart, squeezing his hand back before releasing a sigh and passing over the signed paperwork. Despite how many times this dreamy drama coach and analytical principal have butt heads, it is clear they hold an unwavering respect for one another.

Jack asks her how the students reacted to the news, revealing that Angela actually hasn’t told them yet. He’s surprised, and urges her to break the news sooner rather than later. She doesn’t want to leave them hanging only to not be there the way they expect next year. She’s hesitant, but she knows he’s right. She doesn’t have any idea how.

Their conversation is interrupted when Lucas shows up in the doorway. Jack expresses surprise, wondering if he forgot a disciplinary meeting or something. Lucas claims he just wants a second to talk, but he gets the vibe from Angela that maybe he’s interrupting something important and can come back later.

Jack waves him off, dismissing Angela warmly and shaking her hand as she gets up to leave. As she passes Lucas in the doorway and he steps inside, she gives him a tight nod. Then she’s gone, leaving the two of them alone.

Lucas nosily asks what is up with Miss Moore, but Jack changes tracks back to the subject at hand and asks him what he stopped by for. Lucas claims it’s sort of a weird request, to which Jack blithely points out that there has never been one conversation between them that has not weirded him out in one way or another.

Lucas: Do you have a suit jacket I could borrow?

Jack, somewhat amused: Considering my typical workplace attire, I’d say yes, I probably have one I can spare. Dare I ask why…?

Lucas: Well, Riley invited me to this gala thing, and it’s supposedly a pretty spiffy to-do or whatever, so…

Jack: Oh, you’re going to the Jacobs gala?

Lucas: Is that a problem?

Jack: No, no. Not at all. Not what I would’ve anticipated if you asked me six months ago, I’ll admit, but certainly not a problem.

Jack goes on to explain that he’ll also be attending, and plans to carpool with Eric and Riley.

Jack: If it would be helpful, I could swing by and pick you up on the way to get them. If that’s something you’d be interested in.

Lucas: Uh, yeah. Yeah, that would be great actually.

Jack: Excellent. Sounds like a plan, then.

Lucas: [ clearly weirded out by the pleasantness of the conversation ] Okay. Great.

Jack: Great.

Lucas blinks at him, then reaches forward and knocks the pen Angela was using off the desktop before rushing out.

Jack: Not every conversation we have has to end with you knocking something over!

Lucas: [ from outside ] Weird!

Jack shakes his head, but he can’t help but smile in amusement. He picks up the pen from the ground, looking over Angela’s paperwork with a sigh.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Everything is falling into place – except one slight detail. Riley chases after Isadora as they make their way to the auditorium, making one last plea for her to take the audition spot on Friday. Despite Riley’s enthusiastic ramblings as to why she should invest in the opportunity, Isadora is highly skeptical. She asks why she doesn’t just give the spot to say, Farkle, since he’s being such a brat about the whole thing anyway.

Riley concedes this point, admitting that she could surely give the slot to any of their classmates. But she wants to give it to Isadora, as she tries to make clear as they enter the auditorium.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

A few of their classmates are already seated in the first few rows, Riley and Isadora some of the earliest to arrive. Riley manages to slide in front of Isadora, walking backwards down the aisle in front of her and trying to get her to listen.

Riley: Izzy, you are talented. So talented. And I know that you don’t believe it, so you’re never going to take the steps to get these opportunities yourself. [ off Isadora’s irritated look ] If you take this one, maybe you’ll see that this is something you were born to do, just as much as the rest of us. Please. Please?

Isadora: [ hesitating, then sighing ] I may have brainstormed a couple of potential numbers in the off-chance that you didn’t let this go –

Riley: Yes! Yes!

Riley claps excitedly and basically skips the rest of the way to their seats, already pulling Isadora into eager conversation about it. So it’s settled – Isadora will be taking the third Kossal audition slot for AAA.

As the rest of the class files in, SHAWN HUNTER takes center stage and works to gather their attention. He gives a brief overview of what the last week of classes is going to look like, discussing their final exams which will involve solo performances or projects of their choice and will be presented to Shawn and Angela only.

While he speaks, Maya waits impatiently in the front and center seat, bouncing her legs and exchanging tense eye contact with him. Finally, Shawn sighs, wrapping up his opening spiel and deferring to Maya who clearly requested permission to take the stage beforehand. She leaps up without hesitation, jogging up onto the stage as Shawn exits.

All eyes on her, Maya claims that in spirit of camaraderie – and also in the search for feedback – she has already prepared her Kossal audition ahead of time and would appreciate if she could give a preview performance. She also makes a subtle dig at Farkle, which is pointed considering her whole number is about to be a rather large “screw you.”

Maya: And just in case anybody had forgotten, I earned my audition. Hopefully, this will remind you all of why.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Diamonds Are Forever” as performed by Sabrina Carpenter || Performed by Maya Hart

A ballsy and banging vocal display, Maya shreds through the pop track with an energy that could only be described as defiant. It’s as impressive as her solo from the pilot and her audition just an episode ago, but it’s alive with something much more raw and intrinsically her. It’s on fire, and that’s a whole other level for Miss Hart.

Still, there’s something about the performance that doesn’t deliver right. Because it’s driven with such a petty edge, it doesn’t quite land. On one of the repetitions of “Money don’t buy class,” she make a very pointed head tilt towards Farkle and they lock eyes. He slouches further in his seat, crossing his arms and looking away.

Circling around her, the light throws her in shadow as we transition…

INT. AUDITION HALL - THEATER - NIGHT

… to Maya’s actual audition, flash forwarding to Friday evening. The lighting is far more dramatic, the auditorium unfamiliar and grandiose. Maya is in her finished audition dress, a killer black number with stunning hair and makeup to match. The stage is backlit behind her and a spotlight shows her in her full diva glory.

In the darkness of the auditorium, a panel of judges lift their gazes, jot notes, etc. They’re shrouded in shadow, and far less reactive and friendly than the familiar faculty judges. It’s impossible to tell what they think of the performance, despite how damningly good it is.

This version of the performance carries us to the end, the angle of the camera lining up so that the fiery mezzo is cast in shadow. Leaving the atmosphere tumultuous, a bit uncertain…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Maya wraps up the number as the piano tinkles out the last couple chords, obviously more emotionally vulnerable than she intended to get. She takes a deep breath, letting out a curt little “thank you” before excusing herself from the stage.

Everyone else hangs in the quiet, not sure how to react or what to say. Farkle watches her disappear into the wings, clenching his jaw.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Isadora joins Lucas in the booth, taking a minute to find him. He’s back by his nook, gathering some things to take back to his apartment for the weekend. When he asks what she wants, she begins to explain before getting stuck on another change.

Isadora: [ with a sneer ] What did you do to your hair?

Lucas, embarrassed, fusses it up with his hand and shrugs offhandedly, mumbling an explanation. But Isadora is already past it, explaining that she’ll be auditioning for the Kossal program. When Lucas expresses shock, she elaborates.

Isadora: Riley passed her spot off to me. She said she had some other conflict that she deemed more important.

Lucas: Oh. [ a beat ] Oh…

Isadora is clearly excited about the opportunity, in spite of how aloof she’s attempting to come off. She questions if he’ll be able to help her rehearse, or at least guarantee that he’ll be there. Everything is unfolding so fast, Lucas can hardly keep up.

Isadora: You are going to be there, right? I don’t think I can do this if you’re not there. I know it’s not your scene at all –

Lucas, blankly: I can’t. I have another commitment.

Isadora: Seriously? [ snorting ] What else do you have going on?

Not an unfair comment, but a bit harsh. Lucas gives her a look, and she apologizes quickly before reiterating how important it is to her that he be there. Lucas stares at her, clearly torn. He doesn’t want to let her down…

Lucas: I’ll see what happens. Maybe I can get out of the thing early. Might need a convenient escape route, actually, depending on how things go –

Although Lucas says it all noncommittally and doesn’t sound optimistic, for Isadora it’s as good as a guaranteed yes. Her strength has never been taking tone or verbal cues into consideration, so in her eyes it’s a done deal. He’s going to be there. She can move forward with it because she knows he’ll have her back.

Oh, boy.

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Farkle is waiting in the hall outside the girls dressing room, nervously checking the AAAC. As it has been for days, it remains dead quiet. As if that doesn’t make his anxiety about the whole thing worse… it’s not clear whether he wants it to update or wants confirmation that it will never post again.

He’s torn from it as Maya emerges from the dressing room, pulled back together but cheeks flushed. She snaps at him, asking what he’s doing hanging around. He straightens up and clears his throat, claiming that she said she wanted feedback before launching into a list of every single imperfection of her performance in a passive-aggressive tirade.

Maya elects to continue ignoring him, brushing her hair out of her face and heading towards the doors to the rest of the school. It’s the dismissal that truly makes Farkle snap.

Farkle: What, do you really think you’re so much better than me all the sudden? Just because of one audition?

Maya: Bye, Farkle.

Farkle: As if the only reason you have this spot over me isn’t because of charity?

Maya freezes, totally hit by that comment. It knocks at the one insecurity Farkle knows she has, that she’s been desperately trying to keep a secret for so long.

She whips around, marching back over to him and getting right in his face. The intensity of the movement startles him, causing him to fumble back against the wall before he manages to regain his composure and match her glare. Maya claps back at him for his terrible attitude, lamenting how horrible of a friend he is. Her words are sharp, but not necessarily untrue.

Maya: Yeah, maybe I don’t have any money. Maybe I can’t afford to come to this school or dress the part without a little bit of help. And if people knew, maybe that’s all they’d see. But at least I have respect. At least I’m not so consumed with inferiority that I have to turn on people the moment they prove themselves an actual talent. At least I have friends.

[ Farkle clearly doesn’t know what to say. He swallows, jutting out his chin. ]

Maya: [ looking him over ] Well, one less friend, now. But that’s nothing.

Farkle absorbs the blow, hanging back as Maya storms off. She wipes a couple of tears from her eyes as she pushes through the doors in a huff, but he doesn’t see them.

He waits until she’s long gone to deflate, falling back against the wall before sliding down and crumbling into a crouch. He tucks his head against his knees, like he’s trying to disappear.

As the contrastingly upbeat tones of Zay’s rehearsal track fade in…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “The Greatest” as performed by Sia || Instrumental

Thursday. One day left before the auditions.

Zay and Charlie are rehearsing his number together, the latter having picked it up surprisingly fast. They both perform the choreography with equal vigor, side-by-side on the stage and helping one another keep the pace. It’s a lot of fun to watch them dance it, each of them bringing their own little touches to the moves but also maintaining perfect sync – but it’s somewhat telling that Charlie seems to be outshining Zay. He’s loose, uninhibited, whereas Zay is stiff. Too in his head. Truly a role reversal.

Nearing the end of the routine, Zay steals a glance at Charlie to see how he’s faring. This throws off his precarious hold on the choreography entirely, causing him to stumble and trip right into Charlie. The two of them collapse in a heap with a resounding cuss from Zay and a yelp from Charlie, landing on the stage with a pointed thud.

Charlie slams onto his back and Zay fumbles on top of him, immediately apologizing and trying to check them both for serious injury.

Zay: Man, I’m so sorry. I know you’d offered to help, but I don’t think that involved breaking your limbs. Are you okay?

It’s hard to say. Charlie seems just about brain dead, mouth parted open as he tries to catch his breath and staring at Zay hovering over him. For a tense moment, it seems as though he might say something… perhaps might do something…

Charlie: [ clearing his throat ] Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.

They disentangle themselves, Charlie wincing as he pushes himself into a sitting position. Zay blithely points out that that impromptu ending is exactly how his prospects feel at the moment, like they’re going to crash and burn any second.

Charlie watches him for a long moment, then explains that he still thinks Zay’s form is too strict. Ironic, considering he’s never had an issue with that before. He tries to figure out why Zay is putting so much stake into this whole thing – he’s never seemed too bugged by auditions in the past – but Zay redirects and asks why Charlie didn’t bother to audition. He knows he’s going through some stuff right now, but so is he. So is everyone. Charlie shrugs it off.

Charlie: It’s not a big deal. I’m just a supporting player, you know.

Zay: No, you’re not. How many times do I have to tell you that you’re just as talented as the rest of us? Especially given that you just danced my own routine better than I did.

[ Charlie huffs out a laugh, dipping his head down and looking at the floor. ]

Zay: You’re some of the best we’ve got… when you let yourself be seen.

Charlie locks eyes with him, letting the sentiment sink in. Then he shrugs again, pointing out that he has a major family obligation the same evening as the district-wide ones anyway. It didn’t seem worth the stress. Zay is a bit put off by this reveal, as he sort of hoped that Charlie was going to be there to see him audition.

It’s evident Charlie didn’t even realize that was something Zay would want. He starts to try and come up with a solution but Zay waves him off, assuring him that it’s no big deal. And good thing, because Charlie doesn’t have any simple fixes to his scheduling dilemma. Unfortunate.

INT. AAA - TEACHER’S LOUNGE - DAY

Angela is with Shawn in the teacher’s lounge, lamenting how she doesn’t know how the hell she is going to tell the students that she’s leaving. Shawn points out that she’s only got two class periods left considering she won’t be here for the last three days next week, so she better figure it out lest she leave them scarred upon their last week of sophomore year.

Teasing aside, Shawn basically dishes out the same advice she is constantly giving all of their students. That if this is truly important to her, then she should just talk from the heart and the message will come through. Or you know, whatever.

It sounds like he’s got the right idea. Angela nods, smiling lightly and leaning forward to give him a light kiss.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

All of the students are assembled for class, discussing the end of the year. Maya asks Zay how he’s doing in preparing for his audition, which he does not want to talk about. Charlie speaks up and claims that Zay is going to do great, which Farkle – seated by himself a couple rows away and isolated – states must be true, because it would be super difficult to do worse than Maya.

Before she can fire back, Riley begs all of them to stop the stupid bickering. The techies nod in agreement, Lucas piping up from next to Riley.

Lucas: It was so nice when you all were tolerable for like two months there.

Maya: Oh, as opposed to you who has been tolerable… never?

Angela interrupts the cat fights as she kicks up class, stating that she needs to share a major announcement with them. All of the students, particularly the performers, perk up and give her their undivided attention.

It’s hard to speak with all of them looking up at her so trustingly. She glances to Shawn in the row behind the techies, who gives her an encouraging nod. She takes a deep breath, going on to explain that she’s been offered a role in an off-Broadway production. She allows a pause for them to break into excited chatter, applauding and congratulating her enthusiastically.

Then she takes the reins again, voice a little shakier as she continues with the fact that she will be stepping down from her position as performance coach at AAA and thusly, as their instructor. She intends to stay on faculty part-time, so it’s not a total goodbye, but there will be a new teacher coming into the role next fall.

All of the students are surprised. The performers are stunned speechless, especially the divas. Farkle looks absolutely shattered, jaw hanging open and expression blank.

Angela pauses, gathering her composure before getting out one last sentiment. It may be the most important speech she thinks she’ll ever make.

Angela: When I first started at this school, I felt it beneath me. It felt like something to do to pass the time, an unwelcome detour on my personal trip to the top. I thought that there was nothing for me to gain out of this place other than a paycheck and a way to get my parents off my back. I have never been happier to be wrong. [ a beat ] There are things I’ve learned here and experienced here that I would never find anywhere else. About passion, showmanship, collaboration, compromise. The joy of seeing all of you so brimming with talent and ready to share it with one another, with the world, that it reminded me how to find my own again. So even though this isn’t goodbye, I want it to be clear that you will always be one of my most important stops.

Lastly, she wants to give back to them one of the many countless moving, brilliant, impassioned performances they’ve given her over the past couple years. Without further ado…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “What I Did For Love” as performed by A Chorus Line Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Angela Moore (feat. AAA Sophomores)

Angela starts the classic Broadway tune off softly, still emotional and not sure she’ll be able to make it through without losing her resolve. But as she looks out at the faces of her students – proud, sentimental, in shock – she manages the power to keep going.

As it progresses, the students begin getting up from the seats and jogging to join their teacher on the stage. Even the techies make their way up to join the group, hanging back to allow the performers to have their moment but paying their respects to Angela all the same.

Angela shares a small moment with each of the performing students, giving them hugs and hand shakes and soft smiles. She gives Charlie a hug and then ruffles his hair. Zay is given a warm hug, and Maya gives her a little cheeky bow once they pull apart.

Farkle is the last to receive his goodbye, choked up as he accepts her embrace. When he hugs her back, it’s clear that he’s holding on for dear life. He lingers longer than anyone else, not wanting to let go.

As the number draws to a close, Angela hangs in the moment harmonizing with her beloved students. They stand in a close circle with the techies hanging back and watching respectfully. The camera eases out and disappears into the dark of the wings, leaving them in peace…

INT. FOSTER HOME - ISADORA’S ROOM - NIGHT

Isadora is attempting to practice for the audition tomorrow, but she can hardly hear herself think let alone rehearse. CATHERINA GONZALEZ is pacing and chatting loudly on her phone with a friend, and the younger siblings are causing chaos just outside the door.

The situation is unbearable. Desperate for a change of scenery, Isadora heads into the hall.

INT. FOSTER HOME - ENTRYWAY - NIGHT

Isadora is already gearing up to head out, phone pressed to her ear. She’s impatient as she heads down the stairs, letting out a curse under her breath.

Isadora: Come on, pick up –

She frowns, pulling her phone back into her hand. It’s clear that she’s trying to call Riley, but the line is coming back as busy.

INT. RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

That’s because Riley is already on the phone. She’s pacing her room, unable to stay still as she converses with Lucas on the other end of the line. She’s giving him all of the last minute details for tomorrow evening.

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

Lucas is cooped up on his fire escape, listening intently to everything Riley says. She asks if he’s sure he wants to come along, and he assures her that he’s not going to bail on her now. She checks to see if there’s anything else they need to work out, or if there’s anything she should know about before tomorrow.

There’s a beat of hesitation, where it is clear Lucas is thinking about Isadora. But he opts not to get into it, stating he’s all good and that he’s looking forward to it. Riley returns the sentiment, both of them bashful as they hang up.

INT. FOSTER HOME - ENTRYWAY - NIGHT

Left hanging, Isadora is forced to go to her next best option. There’s a moment of uncertainty as she scrolls through contacts, hovering over one name in particular. This person has been helpful and harmful in the past, but at present it feels like the only chance she has…

She hits dial, raising her phone to her ear once again.

INT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Maya escorts Isadora into her cramped apartment, not bothering to be shy about it considering Isadora is already aware of her scholarship status. Maya makes a point of introducing Isadora to Katy, who is hunched over the sewing machine and doing the finishing touches on Maya’s audition dress. Isadora explains that they’ve met before through the diner, but Katy happily greets her anyway and claims it’s nice to see her again.

Katy informs Maya that she thinks she’s just about done, lifting the gown so that she can see. Maya is elated and incredibly grateful, running up to marvel over it and holding up against herself. She gives her mother a kiss on the cheek and showers her in thank yous, Isadora watching the warm exchange with mild interest. Such familiarity between mother and daughter is obviously new to her.

Then Maya pulls Isadora further into the space, gearing up to get some practice in as promised. Maya is already monologuing about how they can perform for one another and give each other notes, but it is evident that Isadora is simply happy to have any assistance at all.

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

Family dinner is on again at the Minkus house, this one even more lively as EZEKIEL MINKUS (20) has returned home from his first year of college for the summer. Undoubtedly the golden child of the Minkus clan, Ezekiel exudes easygoing confidence and soft temperament that not many of the other Minki possess. He mellows the room just with his presence, and it is no wonder that he is Farkle’s favorite sibling.

He holds court as dinner progresses, detailing all of the adventures of his freshman year to his captive audience. JENNIFER MINKUS listens appreciatively and EZRA MINKUS reacts accordingly in between stabbing at his peas, but none of them are as enraptured by the seemingly charmed promises of friendship, fun, and belonging of university life as Farkle. He’s giving Ezekiel his rapt attention, his food long forgotten on his plate.

LILA MINKUS looks less impressed by her older brother’s bragging. She stabs at her food and keeps her head down, URI MINKUS similarly not paying much attention and waiting for the chance to ask to be excused. In fact, he does so, but Jennifer shoots him down and berates him for trying to rush off so quickly when even more of their family is present than usual. He’ll be able to retreat to his bedroom and block them all out again soon enough, so he can wait a few minutes longer.

Jennifer asks Farkle if he’s looking forward to his last week of classes. He shrugs, claiming that nothing exciting is going on and that his favorite teacher just announced that she’s leaving. The family empathizes, particularly Ezekiel. He recommends that Farkle make the effort to make sure that teacher knows how much she impacted him as her student.

Ezekiel: Considering your admiration is bold enough to state she’s your favorite, I think you’ll want her to know. People only know how much they mean to you if you let them know, as connections are only as meaningful as the effort you put into them. Coming off my first year away, I feel like I know that better than anything.

Lila subtly rolls her eyes at the usual golden brother antics, but Farkle actually seems to be listening. He chews on the notion as the conversation shifts off of him and back to Ezekiel.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Friday morning has finally arrived. As if to commemorate the excitement, AAA Confessions reboots itself with its first post in days. Farkle gets a wave of panic when he sees the notification that they have posted on his phone, immediately going to the app to check it.

It’s nothing major – in fact, it’s hardly a post at all. There’s a blank photo, the caption seemingly celebrating how close they are to the end of the year. “Fear not, AAA starlets. The grand finale is nearly upon us.”

Farkle heaves a sigh of relief. He’s growing to dread the moment that his earlier submission might see the light of day. So long as the page isn’t discussing him or his friends, he figures he’s in the clear.

He shuts his locker, scurrying off to class.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Zay is painstakingly running through his routine one more time, Charlie watching intently. He claps out the beats for him, pacing. When he sticks his landing, at least without falling this time, Charlie transitions his timekeeping into actual applause. He tells him that he’s doing a great job and it came together – it is him, after all. Would be hard for it not to be great.

Zay does not seem convinced. He’s still alight with anxious energy, but he takes the compliment anyway. Not like he has much time left anyway. Charlie lets his gaze linger on him for a few moments, then decides to speak.

Charlie: Can I be brutally honest?

Zay: You? If you think you can.

Charlie: [ laughing, then pausing ] … I think you’re relying too heavily on your dance ability.

There’s a long pause. Then Zay raises a finger at him, trying to silence him.

Zay: You shut your mouth.

Charlie hastens to explain his perspective, pointing out that Zay is a brilliant dancer. Certainly one of the best they’ve got. But he’s an awesome vocalist too, and this audition he’s crafted doesn’t speak to any of that. He’s putting himself in a box when he’s far too dynamic for that. He’s hiding behind his dancing, and if he really wants to make an impression for Kossal he should just forgo all of the pizazz and glitz and tricks and just perform. Give them something from the soul, because Charlie knows he’s not short on that. Just stand there, sing, and show them how indisputably talented he is.

It’s a nice sentiment, and honestly holds quite a bit of truth. But with the audition looming so close and his nerves already shot, Zay is not in the headspace to hear it. He snaps at Charlie instead, telling him that he’s wrong and he thinks he should just leave him alone. He wants to get another practice in before class.

Reluctantly, Charlie obliges. He wishes him luck that evening, assuring him that he’ll give it his best before disappearing into the wings. Zay waits until he’s gone then exhales a sigh, kicking at his duffle bag and rubbing his face. As the bell rings –

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Angela is in her classroom as the week comes to an end, finishing up boxing up her things. She stands for a moment in the nearly empty classroom, wondering how much it will change next year in her absence. Soaking up the memory of it before she bids it farewell.

Farkle comes by, knocking lightly on the door and asking if she has a second. She welcomes him in happily, stating that she figured he would come around at some point. But she warns him playfully that he’s not going to be able to change her mind on this, so there’s no point in kicking off one of his infamous arguments.

He raises his hands in surrender, pointing out that what she’s about to do sounds like the dream. He would never try to convince her otherwise. He saunters further into the room, stuffing his hands in his pockets and nudging her into conversation about how she’s feeling about the change. It must feel crazy, having made it after struggling so long for her shot.

Angela pauses, thinking about it. She comes around from behind her desk, speaking plainly with him and being completely candid. She explains that it feels more meaningful now than it would’ve back then, she thinks.

Farkle: Why?

Angela: Believe it or not, the goal itself isn’t everything. There’s such a difference in accomplishing something you’ve worked so hard for and then being able to turn to someone you love and share in that moment with them. Now that I have people in my corner and didn’t just drop them in pursuit of it all, the strides I’m making feel so much more… real. You know? In some ways, I have to wonder if my approach to it the first time was what ended up fucking me over.

[ Farkle takes this in. Angela gives him a smile, lightly touching his shoulder. ]

Angela: The dream is all-consuming. It’s true… but there has to be room for other things, too. There has to be, otherwise it’s just… empty.

This strikes Farkle in a way he wasn’t expecting. She squeezes his shoulder before getting to her feet, focusing back on packing her things.

EXT. NEW YORK - NIGHT

Night falls over the city as the most important evening of sophomore year looms closer. As the night comes to life, the auditionees prepare for their debut.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - NIGHT

Zay descends from the second floor of his house, dressed comfortably but fashionably and ready to make an impression. DONNA BABINEAUX, OMAR BABINEAUX, and JADA BABINEAUX all applaud him as he comes down the stairs, a bit sarcastic but also genuinely proud.

Jada begins nitpicking his outfit as Omar grabs the car keys. Donna gives her son a kiss on the cheek before ushering him out the door, wishing him luck.

INT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Maya does the finishing touches on her makeup in the mirror on the wall, looking like a total knockout in her long black dress. Her mother completes the look by handing her a faux fur coat, classic yet statement-making at the same time. After she dons it she gives Katy a tight hug, accepting a kiss on the top of the head before she breezes out the door.

INT. FOSTER HOME - ENTRYWAY - NIGHT

BLUE NGUYEN is waiting around in the entryway, tossing his keys impatiently. He raises his eyebrows as Isadora descends the stairs with BEATRIX TORRES and Tessa, the two of them having helped her piece together an ensemble and look for the event. Rather than a gown or glamour approach like her fellow auditionees, Isadora is sporting a look that feels more true to who she is, just with the volume turned up – plaid statement pants, a cropped dark top, and of course the classic combat boots. She looks bold, potentially a star in the making – if she can manage to come out of her shell.

As she’s heading out the door, she crafts a text to Lucas to see if he’s on his way or not.

INT. LUCAS’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

The message goes unread, Lucas far too distracted in nitpicking his own appearance. He’s trying his best to feel comfortable in the borrowed suit jacket, unable to decide between tucking in his shirt or leaving it be and resisting the urge to mess up his combed hair. He looks more put together than he has… probably in his entire life. Scrutinizing his reflection in the glass of his balcony window rather than a mirror probably isn’t helping.

He’s pulled out of his self-deprecation when he sees Jack’s car pull up by the curb below. Lucas grabs his phone and gala ticket, stuffing them into his pocket and darting out the door.

EXT. AUDITION HALL - NIGHT

The three auditionees pull up around the same time, Maya emerging from her cab as the other two hop out of their family vehicles. They all size one another up, exchanging cordial head nods and lingering in the peace for a moment as their drivers pull away.

Then it’s a mad dash for the building, all three racing up the steps in a break-neck battle to decide the order of who will be performing when.

INT. AUDITION HALL - ENTRANCE - NIGHT

Maya’s heels click against the floor as they race through the lobby, capturing the same energy as Maya, Farkle, and Zay scrapping to take center stage back on the first day of classes.

Zay makes it to the check-in table first considering he’s not in a dress or heels. He slides up to the sign-in depot and introduces himself breathlessly, triumphant as the check-in person gives him his choice of AAA slots. He opts for the final of the three, tossing a grin to Maya and Isadora as they sidle up behind him. He gestures for them to step up, bowing cheekily before leisurely making his way to the dressing room.

Zay: All yours, ladies.

Maya makes a face at him, before exchanging a look with Isadora. She defers to her, allowing her to choose next seeing as it doesn’t matter much now. Isadora takes the middle slot, giving Maya first string. The check-in person jots this down, giving them general directions to the dressing rooms and theater.

Isadora: [ after Maya marches off ] Sorry about… all that.

Check-In: It’s okay, you’re all like this. We’re used to it.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Ratatouille Main Theme” as performed by Michael Giacchino || Instrumental

Eric eagerly lets in Jack and Lucas as they arrive, explaining that Riley is still upstairs in his apartment but should be down any minute and then they’ll be good to go. Eric cheerfully tells Lucas that it’s nice to see him joining them, and he’s like… yeah, okay.

Lucas zones out as Jack and Eric begin discussing the technicalities of the evening and sharing administrator gossip, only getting pulled back into the present when Jack makes an out of place exclamation. He gives him a funny look, following his gaze to try and figure out what prompted the declaration of surprise.

The moment Lucas looks over his shoulder and sees Riley descending the stairs, it’s as if the whole world stops. He stops breathing. She looks like certified royalty, with her flowy lavender dress and hair pulled back so intricately and her sheer shoulder wrap. She locks eyes with him and immediately smiles, holding his gaze the entire way down.

When she makes it to the main floor and joins them, she gives the group of them a bashful smile. Lucas can’t even look at her, staring at the floor and swallowing.

Riley: I hope I didn’t keep you all waiting too long.

Jack: Oh, please, it’s nothing. Believe me, your uncle has taken longer.

Eric: Oh, hardy har har. You’re hilarious.

As Jack and Eric settle into bickering, Riley turns her attention to Lucas. She lightly touches his arm, waiting for him to meet her eyes.

Riley, softly: You look good.

Lucas, stammering: Pfft, I mean, me? [ scoffing ] Okay…

In whatever unintelligible language Lucas speaks, this is likely a compliment of some kind. Luckily, Riley is learning to be fluent in that dialect, so she accepts the sentiment with a smile.

Eric rallies the troops.

Eric: We best get going or we’re going to be late, and Haverford is going to have something to say about it.

Jack: Always do when it comes to us.

Eric: Precisely. Let’s go, then, team! Roll out!

INT. CHARLIE’S CHURCH - NIGHT

The church springfest dinner is in full swing, lots of families in their Sunday best on a Friday night and mingling together. ELEANOR GARDNER is clearly having the time of her life, humoring her colleagues and fielding compliments from all the planning she did for the event.

Charlie is hanging out by one of the food tables with ROSAMUND GARDNER, watching her gorge on carrot sticks as she complains about how bored she is. He assures they all have places they’d rather be, but it’s important to mom that they’re there. She rolls her eyes, stuffing another carrot into her mouth and crunching it pointedly.

As Rosamund gets dragged away by friends, Charlie receives a text message. It’s from Zay, letting him know that he secured the closing slot. Despite his confident demeanor earlier, however, his next couple of messages convey that he’s still fretting over the performance and might be spiraling a little bit.

Charlie drops the celery stick he was chewing on and focuses on a text back, reminding Zay not to panic and to lean into what he’s good at. Do what he’s always telling him, feel it and not overthink. He hits send just as AMBROSE GARDNER saunters over, curiously asking who he’s texting.

Ambrose: Must be serious business. You’ve got quite the look of concentration on.

Charlie: Oh, it’s just uh… Riley. My friend. You remember her, from the winter showcase?

Ambrose: Oh, sure.

Charlie: Yeah. Yeah, she just needed homework help. Last minute.

Ambrose: With two and half days of school left?

Charlie: … well, yeah. That’s why it’s serious business.

Ambrose doesn’t question it, helping himself to a snack from the vegetable tray. Tentatively, Charlie broaches the query of whether it would be at all possible for him to leave a bit early. Like, just a tiny bit. His dad is intrigued and not immediately opposed, so Charlie goes on to explain that there’s this major performance thing going on for his friends at AAA, and he’d really like to be there if he could.

Ambrose contemplates this, taking his time as he chews his celery. Charlie is holding his breath.

Ambrose: Suppose we can see how this function is unfolding by then. What time are you thinking?

Charlie nods, relieved that it’s not a definitive no. This holds promise.

INT. JACOBS ARTS GALA - LOBBY - NIGHT

The Jacobs Arts Gala is in full swing, and it is certainly a fancy shindig. It was bound to be, because theater nerds love to dress up and pretend they’re important and glamorous. Students and administrators from all over the tri-state area weave their way through the crowds in their best formal wear, heading towards the ballroom where the main ceremonies are unfolding.

Lucas is standing in the midst of this crowd, sticking out like a sore thumb simply because of how overwhelmed he looks. He stares up at the glitz and awe of the fancy setting and even fancier guests, shaking his head lightly.

Lucas, under his breath: Lucas Friar, what have you gotten yourself into…

INT. JACOBS ARTS GALA - BALLROOM - NIGHT

On the small stage at the front, a swing band keeps the evening going with music as students from the different schools step up and perform selections. Currently on stage is BRANDON RIVAS (16), a sharp-featured and suave sophomore from AAA’s rival, Haverford Prep. He snaps as the band counts him in…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Fly Me To The Moon (In Other Words)” as performed by Frank Sinatra || Performed by Brandon Rivas (of Haverford Prep)

Brandon’s silky smooth vocals take on the Sinatra classic as it floats over the assembled crowd.

Riley is running through the paces of playing student representative, introducing herself to all the important figures. This includes none other than MICHAEL JACOBS, who saunters up to greet her cheerfully. Not struck with nearly the same mythic knowledge of him as her classmates, Riley is able to maintain her cool as she shakes hands with him. She assures him that she’s heard only good things about him, which he seems tickled by.

When he informs her that he’s looking forward to hearing her performance this evening, it’s evident that she has no idea what he’s talking about. Eric slides up and interrupts, laughing and thanking Mr. Jacobs before excusing both them and pulling Riley to the side.

Eric tells her not to panic, but what he neglected to mention to her is that typically, each student representative is slated to perform a song during the ceremonies (i.e. like Brandon). Riley freaks.

Riley: What? I’m sorry, I’m supposed to do what?

Eric: I knew if I told you ahead of time, you’d freak out and potentially not accept the invitation.

Riley: UH-HUH?

Eric: Listen, listen to me, niche. You will be fine. You’ll be fine! You’re best when you’re working on your feet anyway. Just go with your gut. [ off her stunned expression ] Now… go! Enjoy the party! Ha ha.

Riley scoffs, stomping off and muttering to herself as she disappears into the crowd. Eric cringes to himself, watching her go as Jack approaches from behind carrying two flutes of champagne.

Jack: Looks like that went well.

He hands Eric one of the flutes, proposing a toast to the two of them. Sure, it’s been a hell of a year, but they survived it. Didn’t they? The school came together, their biggest adversary seems to have gone into hibernation for good… not too shabby for an analytical principal and his overly involved head counselor.

Eric will definitely drink to that. They raise their glasses, knocking them together with a clink.

Riley has managed to find Lucas, the two of them surveying the dessert table out on display. It’s an assortment of pretty typical yet gourmet desserts, even more intimidating just from how fancifully they’re designed. Riley gestures for Lucas to take one and he shakes his head, keeping his hands clasped together in front of him.

Lucas: No. Mm mm. Don’t trust that.

Riley: What? Why?

Lucas: Doesn’t look like real food.

Riley: [ with a laugh ] What, just because it’s not the staling Oreos in the bottom of your stash in the booth, it’s not real food?

Lucas still refuses, and Riley rolls her eyes. She claims he’s being silly – how is he supposed to know if he doesn’t like something if he won’t give it a chance? He claims he has all the expertise necessary to know not to trust something, but she ignores his rebuttal. Instead, she chooses one of the little pastries and holds it up for him. Patiently waiting, as if she’s going to feed it to him.

He stares at it, then her.

Lucas: I have two hands.

Riley: Well, you’re not using them, are you?

She holds it up indicatively again, raising her eyebrows. Lucas eyes her suspiciously, slowly leaning forward and allowing her to pop it into his mouth.

As it turns out, the pastry isn’t so bad. Lucas chews it thoughtfully while Riley watches in amusement, waiting for the victory of being right in this scenario. She’s startled when a woman taps her on the shoulder, coming over to introduce herself and catching Riley by surprise.

She introduces herself as EVELYN RAND (50s), prominent school board member and Jacobs patron, overseeing the district from Haverford to AAA. She’s heard many good things about Riley, and so she’s been eager to get to meet her. Riley seems genuinely flattered by the notion, the two of them exchanging further niceties.

Evelyn catches sight of Lucas still loitering behind them, calling out to him and gesturing for him to join them. He sheepishly saunters up next to Riley, shaking the hand Evelyn offers him.

Evelyn: Are you a representative as well?

Lucas: Oh, no, I’m uh – I’m just the plus one.

Riley: He might as well be. Lucas is our best student technician at Adams. He can do anything.

Evelyn: Is that so? Yet here you are, Miss Student Representative.

Lucas: Well, she’s the best we have to offer.

Riley locks eyes with him, a soft moment passing between them. Evelyn watches interestedly, raising her eyebrows. Then Lucas backs off, clearing his throat and claiming it was nice to meet Evelyn before sidling back over to the dessert table.

Evelyn watches him go with a twinkle in her eyes, turning her smile back to Riley as she claims she better keep making the rounds. But she emphasizes how nice it was to meet her, and that she cannot wait to see what all of them at AAA accomplish in the next few years. Before she goes, she leans forward to whisper conspiratorially.

Evelyn: [ re: Lucas, approvingly ] He’s cute.

Evelyn gives her a wink, patting her arm and then fluttering back into the crowd. Riley takes a second to catch up to her commentary, a bit caught off-guard but suddenly thinking on the matter. She turns around to look at Lucas again… who is in the process of stuffing another pastry into his mouth. Considering his former indignation, it’s damn charming.

Lucas pauses when he catches her looking, caught. He rolls his eyes, giving her a subtle thumbs up to give her the victory and acknowledge that she was right. Riley can’t help but laugh, and she definitely can’t help but agree with Evelyn’s assessment.

Brandon wraps up his Sinatra impression with a flourish, the orchestra bringing it on home.

INT. AUDITION HALL - THEATER - NIGHT

Isadora is pacing in the wings, about to go on for her audition. She’s pushing it until the last possible second, checking her phone obsessively for a text from Lucas. No such luck.

Maya comes up behind her, informing her that she really needs to go on at this point. Isadora doesn’t look at her, but she ventures the question they both know she’s wondering.

Isadora: Is he here?

Maya, hesitantly: … not that I could see. No.

Isadora steels her gaze, growing more closed off as she stuffs her phone into the pocket of her dress. Maya tries to comfort her, but she brushes her off. She marches onto the stage before she can talk herself out of it.

She squints as she steps into the spotlight, searching for the judges but unable to see anything through the brightness of the lights. In some ways, she supposes that’s better. Easier to pretend that her best friend didn’t neglect to show up on the one night she needs him most if she can’t see the evidence of it.

Once prompted, Isadora introduces herself boldly. Then, she starts to sing.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Here - 2 A.M. Version” as performed by Alessia Cara || Performed by Isadora Smackle

As the mellow chords float in, Isadora lets her emotions pour out through the lyrics. The spotlight is on her on the dark stage, no theatrics, just her standing with a microphone. That’s all she needs. She’s bitter, frustrated, overwhelmed, and so over this whole night.

But that makes the performance all the more endearing. Whilst wrapped up in how she’s feeling, Isadora seems to forget that she’s performing in front of a judging panel and audience, and this is the best we’ve ever heard her sing. Her voice is powerful, and it fills the theater as everyone watches in silence.

As the song goes on, Isadora remembers flashes of the past year when she’s felt isolated: trying to rehearse with the performers for Les Mis but not fitting in, seeing Riley and Lucas dancing together and walking away, being in a room full of her siblings being loud and playing games where she’s sitting in silence with a blank look on her face.

Her voice gets louder and more powerful, and she finishes the song with tears of anger spilling from her eyes. She’s done hiding who she is, trying to mold herself to how people expect her to be. She’s not a techie, she’s not a performer – she’s Isadora freakin’ De La Cruz, and she’ll do whatever the hell she wants.

And right now she wants to get out of this theatre. She storms off stage, shoves the microphone to one of the stagehands, and heads out. Zay and Maya go to congratulate her on her performance, but she ignores them. She’s figuring out who she is in a world where she can’t depend on Lucas anymore, the one person she thought would always be there for her.

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

Despite everyone else’s busy Friday evening, Farkle is wasting away an anticlimactic evening at home. He’s in the living area helping Ezra with homework, but he’s hardly much help. His mind is elsewhere, zoning out of the conversation. He’s also fidgety, restless, and can’t much focus on anything at all.

Ezra complains about all of these facts, indignantly claiming that Farkle isn’t acting like himself. Jennifer calls him back to get ready for bed, freeing Farkle from any further accusations.

Ezekiel is reading a book on the far end of the couch, but he observed the exchange pointedly enough. He stretches his foot out and pokes at Farkle’s arm, getting his attention as he grimaces and swats his socked foot away from him. Ezekiel asks him if he’s okay, which he shrugs off, but he does utilize the opportunity to engage in conversation.

Farkle asks him to elaborate on what he meant about what he said at dinner the other night. About connections, and all that nonsense. Once he’s able to sort of figure out what exactly Farkle is requesting to hear, Ezekiel states that he doesn’t think any of it is all that deep but basically he simply meant that for things in life to hold meaning, you have to put time and effort into them. You need to be present for your claims of importance to hold any water.

Ezekiel goes on further, explaining that with his transition to college and everything, he had an epiphany of sorts about how positivity is so crucial. All of the negativity around them, the constant conflict and pushing people around is just white noise.

Ezekiel: That’s how dad rose up in his business, after all. He always operates as a friend, a partner, a supporter rather than a detractor. He’s an ally, and that’s an attractive trait. Makes him win in the end. That’s why he’s so good at what he does, at least from my perspective.

Farkle questions whether that principle just applies to the business world. Ezekiel shrugs, stating he’s fairly certain it applies to everything. Doesn’t matter who you are.

More than anything though, he just meant that it’s important to spend time with the people you care about while you have them so that they know how much you mean to them. Ever since he left for college he’s been thinking about that a lot – especially in regards to his family.

Farkle absorbs this, managing a smile when Ezekiel reaches forward to pat him on the back. He clearly has a lot to think about the later the night stretches on.

INT. JACOBS ARTS GALA - BALLROOM - NIGHT

Riley is gearing up for her performance, obviously nervous. She wrings her hands as she expresses her task to Lucas, who listens calmly as she rambles on about it. Once she takes a second to breathe, he has the opportunity to speak. Lucas doesn’t have much advice in the realm of performing, naturally, but he claims that she’ll be fine because she always is. He can’t think of a time when she wasn’t good.

Riley: Oh, yeah? Really? You literally told me I wasn’t that impressive during the first week of classes.

Lucas: No, I didn’t –

Riley: Are you kidding me? You said I was an “unassuming chorus member” –

Lucas: I meant that you were holding back. Which you were. That didn’t mean you weren’t good. You were always good.

That’s a lot of perspective altering to throw at her all at once when she’s already overwhelmed. Lucas shifts focus back to the task at hand, essentially giving her the same guidance that Shawn gave Angela – that she should just sing from the heart or whatever it is that they’re saying all the time. Riley absorbs this just as Eric comes to grab her, telling her that she has to get ready to take the stage.

INT. AUDITION HALL - DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT

Zay is in full panic mode, totally freaking out about his performance. He’s forgetting steps, overthinking it just like Charlie warned him not to. He can’t believe he’s about to blow everything on the one chance he’s given to really show what he can do.

Suddenly, he’s struck with inspiration. He looks through his phone, scrolling and scrolling until he finds a new suitable avenue. He nods to himself, trusting himself to take a different approach.

Then he grabs his choreography sheet off the counter, giving it one last look before tearing it up.

INT. JACOBS ARTS GALA - BALLROOM - NIGHT

A rosy hue glows throughout the ballroom as Riley steps up to the stage, conferring quietly with the instrumentalists. It’s evident that she’s figured out her song, and when she steps up to the microphone and adjusts it as necessary she takes a moment to find her stage presence. She searches through the lights to find Eric in the crowd, standing with Jack and watching her proudly. Just a few paces to the right, she finds Lucas.

She’s got support. She’s not alone. Taking a deep breath, she nods to the violinist to kick off the performance.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “That Would Be Enough” as performed by Hamilton Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Riley Matthews

Starting with the open violin and the first “Look around, look around,” Riley skips the duet portion of the Eliza solo and jumps to the core of the song about a minute in. It’s an excellent choice, both for her vocal range as well as the crowd considering it’s hip musical theater.

Even more pointed is how well it applies to her emotions at the moment, which is exactly why she picked it. The first verse she sings for herself (“Look at where we are, look at where we started…”), marveling over how far she’s come in the past year and allowing herself the moment to soak it all up – the beautiful insanity of AAA, the rush of performing and being surrounded by artists who love it too, to be a thousand times stronger than she was before.

As she hits the next verse, however, her focus shifts. She finds Lucas in the crowd again, using him as her anchor as she ventures further into the performance. The lyrics ring particularly true here, too, as she sings directly to him (“I don’t pretend to know the challenges you’re facing / the worlds you keep erasing and creating in your mind…”).

Jack leans over to Eric, whispering that she’s absolutely stunning. Eric, a little choked up, wholeheartedly agrees.

Considering the captivated expression on his face, it’s safe to say that Lucas agrees. He can’t take his eyes off of her, and with how intently she’s staying grounded to him it could very well be a performance shared only between the two of them (“If I could grant you peace of mind, if you could let me inside your heart…”).

It’s a beautiful, delicate performance, and a perfect showing for AAA. The applause that she earns from the assembled appreciators of the arts is well, well earned.

INT. CHARLIE’S CHURCH - NIGHT

Charlie is still present like the darling son he is, but he’s growing impatient. He’s tapping his feet, checking the clock on his phone incessantly.

He makes eye contact with Ambrose from across the room, waiting for some kind of signal that he’s free to go. His father seems to think on it for a long, torturous moment… then he smiles, nodding him along. Charlie exhales, returning the beam and inconspicuously sneaking his way out of the gathering.

EXT. CHARLIE’S CHURCH - NIGHT

Charlie emerges into the brisk New York evening, only pausing for half a second before breaking into a sprint down the street.

INT. AUDITION HALL - THEATER - NIGHT

Zay emerges from the dressing room hall, sporting a different overall ensemble than he was before – much more of an eye-catcher with his Prince-esque floral suit jacket than the dance clothes he was wearing earlier. Maya and Isadora greet him and wish him luck, noting the change in his appearance. Maya questions how he’s feeling, and Isadora points out that he’s probably not going to be able to dance very well in that new attire.

Zay: You’re right. Because I’m not dancing.

Maya and Isadora both drop their jaws, wondering what the hell he’s doing. Maya tries to stop him and ask him exactly that, but Zay is already marching onto the stage.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT

Charlie is sprinting with everything he’s got, dashing through the nightlit avenues in his Sunday best. Running against the clock, just to get a few blocks away… closing the distance with every ticking second…

INT. JACOBS ARTS GALA - BALLROOM - NIGHT

Riley is fielding compliments and praise for her performance from gala guests, obviously unprepared for all the attention. Lucas meanders over to join her, somewhat saving her from further niceties with strangers. He shares a similar sentiment of congratulations, although his awe seems to run far deeper than that of the other patrons.

Lucas: You were – I don’t know what you were worried about.

Riley: Well, thank you. I think.

Lucas: Always good. I don’t know how you do it.

Riley: Hmm. I guess it’s just because I’m “too damn talented.”

It takes Lucas a second to get the reference, then he exhales a sheepish laugh. They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment until Lucas clears his throat, asking her if she wants to dance.

Riley: I’m sorry. Am I hearing that right? Lucas James Friar, willing to dance?

Lucas: Well, I figure if I’m playing the role tonight, I may as well play it right. [ a beat ] And I’ve had a pretty good teacher.

He holds out his arm, waiting for her to take it if she so chooses. She does, shyly, as Zay’s introduction to the judges pre-laps.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Ain’t No Way” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Zay Babineaux

As the opening swell of the soulful ballad floats in, Riley and Lucas make their way towards the center of the ballroom.

INT. AUDITION HALL - THEATER - NIGHT

Zay delivers a killer rendition, doing exactly what Charlie said he would – blow everyone out of the water with his raw talent. All year long he’s been forcing his dancing expertise, it was easy to forget how powerful a vocalist he is as well. There’s a reason he earned a ranking as one of the sophomore divas, and after this, no one is ever going to forget it again.

INT. JACOBS ARTS GALA - BALLROOM - NIGHT

The performance also underscores Riley and Lucas at the gala, venturing their dance. They start off in proper waltz posture, just like she taught him… but as the song progresses, they loosen up. Adjust their stance, close some of the distance, shift more into a slow dance.

At some point, Riley leans forward and rest her head against his shoulder as they sway together. Lucas honestly looks dumbstruck, as though he can’t believe this is actually happening. Any of it. He’d pinch himself, if he wasn’t so preoccupied by her or ever wanted to wake up from it.

EXT. AUDITION HALL - NIGHT

Charlie continues his sprint, darting up the steps two at a time and pushing through the doors.

INT. AUDITION HALL - THEATER - NIGHT

By the time Charlie makes it into the auditorium he’s out of breath, but he’s just in time to catch the latter half of Zay’s performance. He stumbles forward against the handicap rail in the back of the section and takes it all in – Zay’s inarguable stage presence, his outstanding vocals, the fact that he took his advice and is giving nothing but soul.

Charlie is totally entranced. He isn’t catching his breath any time soon.

INT. JACOBS ARTS GALA - BALLROOM - NIGHT

By the final act of the performance as Zay is heading into the final chorus, Riley shifts out of their posture and leans back a bit to look at Lucas. They lock eyes, searching one another’s expressions… and leaning into their first kiss.

It’s slow, uncertain, and over before either of them realize it. But it lingers, and their lips only break apart for a few moments before they initiate a second one. This one is a little bolder, a bit more certain, an active choice on both their ends rather than a tentative curiosity. Riley tightens her hold on his jacket to pull him closer, Lucas lifting a hand to cup her face.

INT. AUDITION HALL - THEATER - NIGHT

Zay finishes the number, totally bringing down the house. Charlie is starstruck. Maya and Isadora are in shock in the wings, able to see the writing on the wall. It’s more than clear who is going to the Kossal program that summer.

INT. JACOBS ARTS GALA - BALLROOM - NIGHT

Lucas and Riley pull back from one another, just enough to exchange hesitant eye contact. Then Riley breaks into a bashful giggle, easing the tension in an instant. She tilts her head against his, Lucas licking his lips and unable to hold back his smile.

EXT. AUDITION HALL - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “The Louvre” as performed by Lorde || Instrumental

Maya steps out into the night, inhaling the fresh air. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and taking a moment. She knows she’s not getting that summer program, not after Zay’s performance.

But she’s used to disappointment. It’s never stopped her before. Onto the next thing.

She exhales through her nose, opening her eyes. Then she descends down the steps, leaving the lost opportunity behind.

INT. AUDITION HALL - DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT

Zay is gathering his things, still shaky on adrenaline from a stellar performance. He hesitates, finally getting to exhale. He almost can’t believe all the stress and strain is done.

Charlie manages to find his way to him, appearing in the doorway. Zay glances up and spots him in the mirror, eyebrows shooting up as he whips around in surprise. He literally can’t believe he showed up.

Zay: Charlie. You’re here.

[ Charlie smiles, nodding. He saunters further into the room, treading cautiously. Not because of Zay, but because he isn’t sure he trusts himself. ]

Charlie: After being so brutally honest, you thought I wouldn’t show up?

Zay: No. No, I just thought – you said you had –

Zay shrugs. He doesn’t really know what he thought, and he supposes it doesn’t really matter. It’s nice to see him there. Really nice.

Zay: I took your advice. So.

Charlie: Yeah, I noticed. And dare I say, I think it worked as intended.

Zay: You think so?

Charlie: Dude, you were amazing. There’s no way they’re not going to pick you.

Zay waves him off, not nearly so sure. Not wanting to jinx it. Charlie has made his way well across the room now, joining him by the counters and much closer. Dangerously close.

Charlie: I’m serious. You should’ve heard yourself. You were mindblowing.

Zay: Come on.

Charlie: I mean it. I mean, you always are. Stunning. Breathtaking.

Charlie can’t look away from him. He’s mesmerized, and still somehow damningly out of breath. He feels like he’s never going to be able to breathe again. Zay lifts his gaze to meet his, searching his expression. Not believing he could be reading the situation correctly.

Charlie shrugs wordlessly. Then he licks his lips, letting out a ragged exhale.

Charlie, breathlessly: Who needs oxygen?

Before Zay can question the statement, Charlie grabs the lapels of his suit jacket and pulls him into a kiss. It’s fumbling, a bit of a disaster to start, the two of them bracing against the counter and Zay reaching out to hold him mostly to keep him from falling over.

But they figure it out pretty quickly from there. Charlie hesitates for one last second, taking another glance at him before going in for another one. Eagerly. Decisively. Making his choice.

It doesn’t take long for Zay to get on the same page once the initial shock wears off. He kisses him back, tugging him closer and reaching up to start undoing his Sunday best tie.

The auditions may be wrapped, but it’s clear the two of them aren’t going anywhere for a while.

INT. JACK’S CAR - MOVING - NIGHT

Jack and Eric chatter in the front, lightly discussing the gala and the performances from the evening. Completely oblivious to how everything has changed.

Riley and Lucas are quiet. They’re seated in the back, not looking at each other. They can’t. It’s too much to ask of them with so much shifting between them, and with their faculty right there in front of them.

Riley glances away from fiddling with her purse to steal a look at him. He’s keeping his eyes trained out the window, absentmindedly chewing on his thumbnail. So, so far from the intimidating first impression he made at the beginning of the year. She shifts her gaze to his hand instead, resting on his leg and fingers tapping anxiously against his knee.

Gently, she reaches forward and touches the sleeve of his jacket. Lucas freezes, his fingers hovering over his leg. He tosses a glance in her direction out of the corner of his eye, uncertain what she’s going to do and wholly certain that he can’t brave looking her in the eyes.

Her fingers brush the back of his hand, before she lets her hand come to rest on top of his. Venturing that simple touch, rubbing her thumb against his knuckles. Lucas stares at their hands, still frozen. Still unable to look at her.

Then, he flips his hand over and links their fingers together. It’s that easy.

They don’t look at each other. They don’t give anything away. But light smiles bloom onto both of their faces as they direct their gazes out the car windows and towards the city lights.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Lucas enters the apartment as silently as possible, trying not to disturb whoever else might be around or asleep. Further inspection reveals a light on in the kitchen area, indicating that his efforts to go undetected might be futile. He frowns, stepping towards the room.

GRACE FRIAR is seated at the kitchen table, up late rifling through paperwork. When Lucas softly asks why she’s still up, she jumps slightly and lifts her head. It’s an immediate relief when she sees that it’s only him. She manages a smile, taking in his full attire.

Grace: You look nice. Where did you get that suit jacket?

Lucas: [ after a beat ] A friend.

Lucas avoids her gaze as she questions whether he had fun, busying himself by getting a glass of water. He pauses to actually consider the question, before confirming he did. He starts to make his retreat before he doubles back, posing a new discussion topic.

Lucas: Do you still have the application for McCullough? [ off Grace’s nod, and a beat of contemplation ] Forget about it. I’ll be fine at Triple A.

Grace, surprised: Are you sure?

There’s another beat of hesitation. Then, Lucas’s expression softens.

Lucas: Yeah. I am.

He bids his mother goodnight, disappearing from the kitchen doorway. Grace watches him go, a bit bemused. Sensing a major change of heart in her son, absolutely clueless as to where it came from. But it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. Not at all.

After a moment she smiles, returning to her work.

EXT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Maya is seated on the steps in front of her building, the street glimmering with the lights of the city and early morning dew. Farkle appears around the corner, marching towards her with his hands in his pockets. It’s not clear how far he’s walked alone in the middle of the night.

He’s frantic, full of nervous energy. She doesn’t bother to acknowledge him as he approaches. He stops in front of the steps, waiting for an invitation. When he doesn’t get one, he plops down next to her anyway. He bounces his legs restlessly, a sharp contrast to her plaintive calm.

They’re silent for a long moment. Maya clears her throat, ready to tell him off.

Maya: Are you lost, Farkle? It’s midnight and you live across town –

Farkle: I don’t want to be alone.

The statement takes Maya by surprise. She frowns, turning her gaze to him. He keeps staring straight ahead, rubbing his palms on his knees. Still fidgeting. His speech is scattered, panicked.

Farkle: I don’t know why I’m like this. Why I get this way. I tell myself it’s just the ambition, the drive pushing me towards my destiny, but I don’t know. I don’t think your destiny is supposed to feel this suffocating. Claustrophobic. [ a beat ] It’s like, if you’re going to do anything in this world you’ve got to be the best. And if you’re gonna do something as stupid as performance art, then you really have to be the best or else you’ve got nothing. And I didn’t want to be a nothing. I can’t be a nothing.

Maya listens intently, contemplative and somewhat stunned. Almost a year of friendship, or whatever the two of them are, and he’s never been this vulnerable.

Farkle: And if you’re going to be the best, that means fuck the rest. Right? If you’re at the top, then it means no one else can be. That’s what I always thought. That’s what made sense. But I’ve got this… it’s like I’ve got this whole other side to me that has a new motivation. And I don’t think I can survive with two. It’s like I’m splitting down the middle. But I know they’re both true. They’re both all-consuming. [ a beat ] I want to be the best. I want to get the auditions and the summer programs and get everything I deserve. I want it so badly, it’s blinding.

Maya waits, a bit more guarded. This much, she already knew.

Farkle: But I want to share it, too. I want to do it with people who are just as talented and star-bound as me. I want a team. I don’t want to be alone.

Farkle finally looks away from the street, forcing himself to meet her gaze. He hesitates, then speaks definitively. Like if he doesn’t say it, it’ll suffocate him.

Farkle: I want my friend.

Maya takes this all in, before softening a bit. After a moment she sighs, running a hand through her hair and trying to gauge the situation.

Maya: You really mean all that?

Farkle: Yes.

Maya: You done with all of the bullshit? All of the stupid –

Farkle, without hesitation: Yes. Yes.

It’s so difficult to figure out what’s real with him. Whether or not he’s telling the truth. But somehow, Maya wants it to be true.

Maya: You really mean just as talented?

Farkle: [ with an eager nod ] Maybe more.

The statement is sincere. And this, it seems, is the ticket to earning back her approval. She gives him a hesitant smile, nodding as well and letting her gaze drift back to the street. They continue to sit in the cool May twilight, the winds of change kicking up a breeze around them.

This friendship may just stay afloat yet…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

The last couple days of sophomore year seem to promise an unusually little amount of chaos compared to the usual tenor of AAA. Farkle is at his locker on his phone, and we can see that he has messaged the AAAC multiple times over the weekend requesting that his submission be deleted and forgotten about.

The page hasn’t responded, so it seems like a moot point. For what it’s worth, the AAAC seems to have finally given up.

Farkle accepts this, closing his locker. Glancing down the hallway, wondering what an entirely new year is going to bring.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

On the bulletin board outside the black box, Zay has been announced as the summer program recipient. The assembled classmates congratulate him, including a genuinely complimentary Maya and a very enthusiastic Riley. Charlie gives him a pat on the back, and they exchange a soft look – suddenly a lot more meaningful between them than before.

During this celebration, however, they all get notifications on their phones from Instagram.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Farkle gets it as well, still in a different part of the school. It informs him that AAA Confessions posted a new video, followed by one more message specifically meant for him.

“Too late. Self-destruct sequence initiated. Happy summer, Farkle Minkus.”

Consumed with dread, Farkle stops frozen in the hall and opens his phone. As he jumps to the app, his hands are shaking so badly he nearly drops the device. When he goes to check the page, all of the color drains from his face.

It’s worse than he expected. Not only is the content of his video posted, it’s him saying it. AAAC simply posted the video in its entirety, only having adding a caption explaining that the post is their swan song confession – and they’ve exposed everyone who ever posted on the account.

As Farkle’s voice on video begins to rattle throughout the school halls, he takes off at a mad dash down the hallway –

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “The World Was Wide Enough” as performed by Hamilton Original Broadway Cast || Instrumental (up to 4:00) - Performed by Farkle Minkus (4:00 onward)

INT. AAA - HALLWAYS - DAY

It’s chaos as everyone tunes into the video and sees the AAAC’s final post. Their final message is true to their word – scrolling down on the page, they’ve added a “signature” to every single original caption revealing who submitted it in the first place. All that power of anonymity, gone in an instant.

Friends are confronting friends about items posted. People are tuning in to Farkle’s video, in total awe and horror of the mere existence of it. Each piece of it is repeated in snippets as it passes through the halls, accenting the instrumentation of “The World Was Wide Enough.”

As Zay reads the caption on the post, he turns to look for Charlie. But Charlie is gone, having disappeared the moment it became clear exactly what was going on.

Charlie himself is hiding in a nook of a hallway closer to the atrium, looking like he’s going to be sick. As he frantically scrolls through the page, we discover what it is that has him so flustered – all of the posts about him and Riley were submitted by him. All that effort put into using it to keep suspicion off of him, and now he suddenly looks more curious than ever.

Panicked, Charlie jogs towards the front entrance and pushes through the doors. Taking off at a run without looking back.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The techies are huddled in their usual back section sans Isadora and Lucas, watching Farkle’s video with a distinct mix of horror and fascination. JADE BEAMON is hiding behind her hands, she can’t bear to watch it for too long. DAVE WILLIAMS can’t look away, jaw hanging open.

Lucas enters from the audience doors, noticing the tension in the congregation and asking them what’s going on. DYLAN ORLANDO and ASHER GARCIA immediately attempt to stifle the sound and hide the phone, assuring him that it’s nothing. But naturally, this adamant denial doesn’t sell convincingly on either of them.

He can tell something is seriously up. He repeats the question, approaching the group and coming to stand in front of them again. Dave tries to claim ignorance as well but Lucas is faster than them, reaching over and snatching Dylan’s phone from his hands before he can protest.

Lucas tunes into the video just as Farkle is wrapping up his section on him, transitioning to Isadora. Asher tries to tell him he’s stupid and he should forget about it, but Lucas isn’t listening to him anymore.

Farkle: … I mean, why else would she put in the effort to befriend jackass Lucas James Friar, other than by special request from her favorite counselor uncle in an attempt to make sure he doesn’t make a hit list or some shit considering he’s so openly pathetic. Riley Matthews doesn’t need sympathy, but she’s sure good at giving it…

Asher and Dylan are watching him like a hawk, not sure what to say. All of them are watching him with evident worry, and that just makes everything worse.

Farkle: … I guess it makes sense that she deserves one shot to prove she actually can live up to the family business without having to do any work for it. Sucks that it’s so late notice her best friend won’t even be there, as he’ll be too busy on his pity date with Riley. How tragic.

Stone-faced, Lucas drops the phone to the ground and marches from the auditorium. Dylan calls after him as Asher scrambles to pick up the phone off the ground. Dave starts to go after him in concern but Jade pulls him back.

INT. AAA - HALLWAYS - DAY

Farkle continues his desperate sprint through the halls, frantically trying to get to the black box to do damage control before everything unravels. He arrives and barrels through the doorway just as the gun shot in the instrumental goes off, kicking off the empty, tense backing of Hamilton’s free verse.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

The moment Farkle appears in the doorway, a dozen heads snap to look at him at once. Most of the sophomore class is assembled, nearly all of the performers except Charlie and including Isadora. They’re all staring at him, a myriad of unpleasant emotions on their faces.

Considering the fact that all of them are also on blast because of what the page did to the captions, Farkle is truly stepping into the full brunt of everyone’s betrayal and anger.

Maya breaks first, questioning how the hell he could do something like this. He really did blow up everything – including reveal her scholarship status to the whole school. Her eyes are glossy as she scrutinizes him, but the rage is enough of a deterrent to hold back any tears.

Farkle isn’t so lucky. He’s already choking up as he tries to defend himself, stammering through his words. He tries to point out that it wasn’t him who posted it, and he frantically tries to explain that he basically begged to have it deleted. He never wanted it to be shared. He didn’t mean it.

Maya: But you sent it. You said it!

The vitriol escalates pretty quickly from there, Zay pointing out how pathetic the whole thing is. Riley questions why he would put other people’s interpersonal relationships on blast, to which Isadora follows up that it’s obviously because he can’t imagine what having actual friendships must be like. Guess if he can’t have them, then no one can.

Farkle takes hit after hit, being the straw man in a scenario that has no good ending. But the whole thing gets far worse when Lucas storms into the room, asking if it’s true.

It’s like all of the air gets sucked out of the room. The performers turn to Lucas warily, wondering the hell he’s going to do. He repeats the question, voice quiet and sharp – which is honestly scarier than if he were shouting. Farkle swallows, certain he’s not going to live to see tomorrow.

But Lucas doesn’t focus on him. He zeroes in on Riley instead, locking eyes with her and looking at her for a long moment before asking about what he actually cares about. When he speaks, it’s barely above a murmur.

Lucas, mockingly: … pity date?

Riley: [ stunned ] No. No, Lucas, I didn’t – I never –

But it’s too late. It’s like Wyatt said – words are toothpaste, and they’re not going back in the tube. The sentiments have left their mark, for everyone involved.

Lucas huffs out a laugh, but it’s not a humorous one. Then he launches into a tirade about how he should’ve known better, they should’ve seen this coming. That, of course, the performers would default to this kind of petty and sadistic behavior, because that’s all they ever do. It’s been that way forever, and nothing is going to change it clearly. It’s a pretty staggering deconstruction, and he bookends it by stating he hopes they’re all really pleased with themselves. Really damn pleased.

Lucas focuses back on Farkle, voice dropping back down to a wavering murmur.

Lucas: [ letting out a scoff of a laugh ] … fuck you.

[ Farkle can’t look at him. He keeps his gaze trained on the wall, a couple of tears slipping down his cheeks. Lucas shakes his head, backing up. ]

Lucas: Fuck… [ raising his voice ] FUCK all of you!

Lucas storms out, pushing WYATT LIVINGSTON out of his way as he shoves past him to escape. Isadora shoots a murderous glare at all of them before chasing after him. CLARISSA CRUZ hides her head behind HALEY FISHER’S back, both of them crying. A tear escapes Riley, but she’s so shell-shocked she doesn’t even think to wipe it away.

The sophomore class starts to file out, trying to escape the unbearable tension they all had a hand in creating. They file out one by one in varying states of shock until it’s down to Farkle and Zay, the latter stopping in front of him as he makes his way out.

Zay: Was it worth it? Is it finally enough?

He scoffs, shaking his head in disgust as he leaves Farkle alone. Farkle stands there in the center of the classroom alone, completely frozen.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Isadora catches up to Lucas in the technician’s booth, intending to confront him about the commentaries leveled against him – particularly that he totally just blew her off to go on some date with Riley without bothering to clue her in. Because that’s not so hot either, and she was counting on him to be there. She needed him to be there, and he wasn’t. She expresses how idiotic she felt and demands to know what the hell he was thinking.

Lucas claims he doesn’t want to talk about it right now, obviously on the verge of a major emotional hurricane. Anyone else would be cautious to be near him with such a chaotic potential in the air – and understandably so – but Isadora knows him better than that. She’s not scared of him, and at the moment she’s pissed. So she won’t let it drop, pushing and pushing until he finally cracks.

He yells at her, begging her to shut up. He can’t deal with it right now, so would she just let it drop? She winces, shocked enough by the outburst to stop the badgering. Lucas blinks at her, turning away and collapsing back against the electrical cabinet. He slides down to the floor, all of the anger gone in an instant and just left with… everything else.

He covers his face with his hands, letting out a shaky “fuck” and pulling up his knees in front of him. Isadora hesitates by the lighting board, realizing now isn’t the time for the confrontation. They’ll have that conversation later, she knows that they will. For now, she thinks he needs her to be present in a different way – even if he wasn’t there for her the way she expected he’d be.

Tentatively, she approaches him and sits down against the cabinet next to him. She cautiously puts an arm around his shoulders to comfort him – a big move, coming from Isadora – and that moment of vulnerability is what shatters the flood gates.

Lucas leans into her embrace, breaking down in tears as the sting of everything falling apart finally starts to sink in. When he said that when he cared about something, we would know… well. That’s more evident than ever before.

Isadora holds him and allows him to melt down, lightly propping her chin on his head. Her expression is grim, holding it together so that at least one of them remains stalwart.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Farkle takes over the vocalization of “The World Was Wide Enough,” tuning in on “Now I’m the villain in your history…” He’s walking along the edge of the stage on his own, balance precarious. Like he could fall at any second, but at that point he doesn’t care anymore.

His eyes are glossy but the tears are done. He’s blank-faced, trying to comprehend the fact that his world just turned upside down, and the truth of it is? It was all his fault.

I was too young and blind to see, I should’ve known. I should’ve known the world was wide enough for all of them and me.

Close on Farkle’s teary eyes, before a slow fade to black. Then, the sounds of a bustling airport float in as we transition to a new location…

INT. AIRPORT - DAY

Close on a smartphone, open to the AAAC but from the moderator side rather than follower as we’re accustomed to seeing it. A thumb navigates to settings, going to the delete button. When Instagram prompts if the user is sure about deleting the account, they hesitate.

Easing out, it is finally revealed who the true operator of the AAAC was – Chai Fresco. In spite of her successfully evading getting caught, she doesn’t look thrilled with all of the chaos that unfolded in its wake.

As her boarding section is called for her flight to Europe, she acts quickly and confirms the delete. Poof! It’s as if the page was never there… even if all the damage it caused still remains.

Chai grabs her things, heading towards the flight that will take her away from all of the aftermath. Not looking back.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Empty hallways. Quiet building. Summer has begun, and the impending confrontations are put on hold for a few weeks. The hallways feel eerie, not populated with students and dancing and music as they should be…

Eric: What the hell happens next?

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

Eric is seated behind his desk, Jack in the usual student occupied chair across from him. They’re both stunned speechless, still attempting to wrap their minds around what the hell unfolded in the last three days of classes. Eric confirms that the confessions page has been terminated for good, so at least there’s that.

Jack: Mister Livingston was right.

Eric frowns, prompting Jack to continue. It’s clear that this has taken a toll on Jack. He doesn’t look all that well, and his voice is ragged as he tries to compose his thoughts. He laments that Wyatt was correct about him – he is incompetent, and he couldn’t stop this from imploding in on itself. More than that, he’s the failure. He failed their students, from beginning to end.

Eric tries to refute this notion, but Jack isn’t willing to hear it. And in some ways, they did fail, there’s no sugarcoating that. They tried to protect their students, and it didn’t work. Everyone got hurt, somehow.

Most pointedly, Jack continues, Wyatt was right when he said there is a serious culture problem at AAA. Too much competition, too cutthroat. They have to change it, and it’s going to take both of them working together to fix it from the ground up.

Jack looks to Eric, a far cry from the resolute and polished principal we met at the beginning of the season. He lets out an exhale, locking eyes with his most stubborn yet most impassioned faculty member.

Jack: Will you help me?

Eric holds his gaze, obviously contemplating. Then he holds out his hand, waiting for Jack to shake on it. If they’re going to rebuild, then it’s going to take both of them indeed.

Jack hesitates, then links his hand with his.

END OF SEASON.

[flightyrock]

Laundry Day

Summary: It’s laundry day for a certain pair of half ghosts.  But when Vlad digs deeper than he should, he finds more than dirty laundry, testing the bonds between father and son.

OR

A shameless fluff fic in which Vlad is too hard on himself (as usual), Daniel does his best to reassure him, and Vlad proves he is father of the year material.

Featuring: accidental naps, hugs galore, and rambling internal monologues.

Characters: Vlad Masters, Daniel Masters

Tags and Warnings: Father/son relationships, Backstory, Emotional fluff/pain, Really Long Flashbacks, invasion of privacy, miscommunication, allusions to suicide, hopelessness, fake science, grey ethics, fake medical jargon, dehumanization, Vlad’s special brand of angst, mild body horror, clichéd tropes, happy ending, cuteness

If you’re concerned, feel free to PM me and I will be more than happy to provide a detailed summary or tell you what parts to avoid.  All of the iffy ones, save for the emotional hurt/comfort, only last for a few paragraphs.  Most of them are contained in the flashbacks, which are in italics. But on a whole, it’s father/son fluff and feels.  Be safe!

Word Count: ~10,500

I’ll also make this available on AO3 for your viewing pleasure, since I know some people (myself included) prefer that format better.  But tumblr makes it easier to share, so that won’t be linked for awhile; I’m thinking a week?

Some notes before we dive in, since this is the first fic I’ve written in this particular universe, so there are a few (read: a lot) of things I need to cover.  Explanation and story under the cut!

Update:  This isn’t posting right, so I’m going to remove the links for now.  If this works, I’ll make a separate post with the links.

This fic takes place in what I’ve nicknamed the “Perfect Son AU,” an alternate universe to Danny Phantom where Vlad successfully created a clone, which he named Daniel.  It’s a working title, and someone else might have already come up with something better, but I’m running with it for now.

I did not create Daniel; he was originally introduced as an unnamed character along with a possible future version of Vlad in Butch Hartman’s second “Danny Phantom: 10 Years Later video.” All we’re told is that he’s a mixed clone of Danny and Vlad.

Of course, this premise has tons of potential, and several artists have created content for him.  I fell head over heels for @schnivel‘s interpretation; the designs and characterization are just incredible, and gave me that creative itch. I live for that cute picture of Vlad and Daniel at a Packer’s game.  There are also a bunch of doodles, and the tags provide fun details, hinting at character dynamics and firmly establishing Daniel’s presence in-universe.  The rest of his art is awesome, too; it’s incredibly expressive (facial expressions and body language are always SPOT ON), and he has some really neat OCs, so be sure to check him out!

Schnivel also took the time to chat with me, and answered many of my questions regarding Daniel’s characterization.  Thank you so much!

I discovered that other artists loved this version of the character as well, and during one of schnivel’s discussions with prom during one of @promsien‘s streams, she had the fun idea that Vlad knits Daniel sweaters, and heaven help anyone who ruins one of those.

Needless to say, this (and other details surrounding the fallout) gave me…ideas.  This incident is only hinted at in this fic, which started out as a cute 1500 word fluff piece I thought up on the bus back to school after Thanksgiving break.  But then plot and angst snuck in, and the characters just weren’t quite right, so four rewrites, 9000 words, and about two months later, here we are; the longest piece I’ve ever written.  

Keep in mind that this is just my interpretation of schnivel’s canon, based on details from several sources, so the events described here may or may not have occurred; essentially, it’s a fanfic of schnivel’s AU.

This story takes place after about a year after Daniel’s creation, in the transition period between schnivel’s 16 y/o and post puberty designs.  While not necessary to enjoy the story, I strongly recommend taking a look at these before you begin reading; you won’t be sorry.   Some other quick details to keep in mind:

1.  Daniel is still in high school, and is enrolled in Casper High.

2.  Daniel =/= Danny

3.  Yes, Daniel knows Danny and they do not get along.

4. Vlad and Daniel live together, and share a healthy (and frequently adorable) father/son relationship.  They get along incredibly well most of the time, and genuinely care about each other.  Vlad is finally happy (mostly), and it’s my favorite thing ever.  Do me a favor and do not tag this as ship, please and thank you.

5. Danny is not in this fic, but he is referenced a couple of times; once, confusingly, as Daniel.  (I’m sorry; blame Vlad.)  It’s not mentioned in this fic, but he doesn’t call Danny “Daniel” anymore, for obvious reasons.

Alright, enough notes!  I’ve rambled long enough!   Kudos to you for reading this far; I do think the context is necessary to fully appreciate this story, so if you skimmed, I completely understand, but I urge you to check out the five-point list and links  [sorry guys, removed these to see if they were the problem] above. And remember to check out @schnivel and @promsien.  Thanks, guys!  So, without further ado, enjoy!

“Daniel, laundry!”

The amiable call echoed off the interior walls of a luxurious but tasteful mansion overlooking Amity Park; walls that had changed extensively in the past year.  Previously, the nondescript barriers existed out of necessity, stabilizing the considerable load of the structure and dividing too much space into too many cold, empty rooms.  

One wall in particular, located between the entry and the main staircase, changed dramatically, and now proudly announced to visitors that two shared the space, and quite happily at that.

An eclectic selection of frames housing amateur photographs were mounted artfully in a quantity bordering on excessive.  From this, an outsider could reasonably assume that the curator was either an overly-enthusiastic hobbyist or a new parent.

In this case, both assumptions would be correct.  Indeed, most of the photos focused on a single boy, specifically, a teenager, sporting unique, striped locks and a smile.  

But this wasn’t your average, awkward, get-me-out-of-here, oh-my-god-are-we-still-not-done-taking-pictures-yet kind of smile that most teenagers plastered on instinctively to escape the camera: No, this was a genuine, candid expression of happiness that would make any photographer worth their salt dissolve into blissful tears.  It would have been hard to believe the boy was truly a teenager, if not for the distinctive, almost puppy-like proportions that suggested there was still growing left to do.

He was occasionally joined by an older gentleman wearing a smile of his own; more guarded, but no less genuine.  In these photos, the boy veritably beamed at the camera or the man himself, expression all the brighter in his company, leaving no doubt just who was responsible for cultivating such joy.  Likewise, the boy coaxed the man out of his shell, steadily transforming a shyly quirked corner of the mouth into a joyful grin as the series progressed.

The gentleman in question was currently strolling around the house, dressed casually in socks, slacks, and a button-down.  His sleeves were neatly rolled above the elbows, exposing muscular forearms that strained to maintain an awkward hold on the large basket of casual wear.  His burden couldn’t have been too cumbersome, however, as he took a moment to admire the photo wall, as he always did.

He shifted the basket, clamping it against his left hip with the same arm, freeing his right to compulsively straighten an already perfectly-aligned portrait of the boy, providing an excuse to linger.  

It was one of his favorites; a candid shot he had snagged during one of their first snows together.  He was quite proud of it.  Daniel kneeled on the plush window seat, dwarfed by the dual floor-to-ceiling windows.  His features were alight with childlike wonder and the soft, winter sun, breath fogging the glass as he peered out of the pane, entranced by dancing flakes.  Vlad’s eyes grew misty, recalling cold, damp clothes, laughter, and hot chocolate   His shoulders softened a touch, mouth pulling upward fondly.

The reverie was broken by an uncomfortable burn in his forearms as the basket slipped slowly downwards under gravity’s influence, prompting him to readjust his hold and resume his search.  

It was that time of year again; the relentless heatwave had broken at last.  Residents of Amity Park gave a collective sigh of relief, enjoying cool days and brisk evenings just shy of uncomfortable as summer gave way to autumn.  Full suits were no longer suffocating.  And football season was in full swing.

In short, life couldn’t be better.  There was something invigorating about the crisp, cool air that accompanied the changing seasons, putting Vlad in the rare mood to do some tidying.  Housework was a small pleasure he had rediscovered recently; busy hands left the mind free for reflection, something that Vlad wasn’t as eager to avoid these days.  The reason for this?  Well…

“Daniel!” he called again, perplexed by the continued lack of response from his young charge.  No, his son, he reminded himself, distracted for a moment by the thrill of excitement and anxiety that still shot through him at that thought.  Against all odds, he was a father.  

He savored the feeling as he searched, peeking around the corner to the living room on a whim, and bit back another call.  Warm affection swelled in his chest at the rare and, admittedly, adorable sight.

His son, Daniel, was sprawled lengthwise across the couch, out like a light.  Sleep had hit him hard and fast; the awkward position of his limbs was telling, and looked anything but comfortable.  

A socked foot was braced on the floor while its twin was slung over the couch’s far arm, still trapped in a sneaker, laces tangled from an abandoned attempt at removal.  One arm hung limply to the side, while the other was likely going numb, trapped against the back and beneath the Maddies, who were taking full advantage of their human’s compromised position.  

The opportunistic felines were curled up on the half-ghost’s broad chest, passive-aggressively close to one another, soaking up the warmth.  Like many cats, they managed to radiate smug bliss even from the depths of slumber, much to Vlad’s amusement.  

He really couldn’t blame them.  Naps for Daniel were a rare occurrence, after all; the boy rarely slowed down long enough.

But Vlad had almost forgotten what else autumn meant; school was once again in full swing.  A ridiculous amount of coursework accompanied Daniel’s ambitious class load, pushing the limits of an already-taxing daily schedule.

In addition to coursework, he participated in several extracurricular activities, made time for friends, and dedicated himself to a rigorous training and tutoring regimen of Vlad’s own design. No wonder the boy was exhausted.

Not that he had so much as hinted at fatigue, eager to prove himself.  

Vlad mentally shook his head, pride mixing with fond exasperation.  He had, admittedly, forgotten just how difficult it was to be a teenager (though he thinks he can be excused for this oversight given that it’s been over twenty years since then; twenty long years).  He vaguely recalled expectations to tackle a workload any self-respecting, paid employee would strike over.  

Daniel, like many teenagers, did that and more with only a fraction of useable energy at his disposal at any given time, resources diverted to accommodate the emotional and physical stress the body underwent as it matured.  Puberty had hit Daniel late and with a vengeance.  The boy had been shooting up like a weed lately, the gap between his cuff and ankle widening at an alarming rate (not surprising given the state of the pantry at the end of any given week; the teen had to be burning through massive amounts of energy in the process).  

As his coach, Vlad had noticed he was struggling physically; his center of balance shifted so rapidly he just couldn’t keep up.  Daniel’s frustration was all but tangible at times, face heating with anger and humiliation when he fumbled through warm-ups and drills that had once been simple. Recently, more often than not, he left their practice sessions drained and irritable, shower doing little to dispel a dark mood that carried over into their evening lessons.

Vlad wondered if he was sleeping enough.

Judging from his current state alone, the poor boy needed all the rest he could get.  Vlad quelled a rush of remorse for pushing him so hard, reminding himself that Daniel had set the pace.  

Insisted, really.  He was normally eager, almost desperate, to improve, diving into training with a single-minded intensity that rivaled Vlad’s own.  Daniel had protested furiously when Vlad had suggested they take it a bit easier during the school year, pushing himself even harder.

Vlad chuckled fondly; Daniel was his son, after all.  But perhaps he could persuade him to revise their schedule to an every other day kind of thing; in hindsight, it was a bit ambitious to have lessons and physical training on the same day…

Musing about schedules, he set the basket aside and approached, debating whether the merits of repositioning gangly limbs into a more comfortable position outweighed the risk of waking the boy.  

No, better to let him rest. He was young, after all; he probably wouldn’t suffer from the stiff neck Vlad wouldn’t admit to getting if he slept at the demonstrated awkward though, admittedly, impressive angle.  (His neck definitely did not twinge in sympathy. He wasn’t old.)

He settled for carefully prying off the remaining shoe before unfurling a fuzzy throw that hung over the back of the couch, settling it gently over long legs, careful not to disturb the felines.  They, of course, would have no such qualms about waking Daniel in their subsequent bid for freedom should they be trapped beneath the heavy fabric.

His fond gaze migrated upward upon completion of his task, settling on Daniel’s face, relaxed in slumber. It was a rare treat to observe his son in such a peaceful state, and he was somewhat tempted to take a picture (too bad his camera was in his room).  

Daniel looked so young this way.  The man’s eyebrows bunched, oddly nostalgic as he took in the boy’s strengthening features, an early sign that he wouldn’t be one for much longer.  Soon, soft lines would vanish completely, giving way to the strong jaw and defined cheeks that were already taking shape.  

He would miss these days. Vlad felt an irrational surge of longing and loss, feeling absurdly cheated out of the early years, of a tiny Daniel smiling at him, of endless questions and childlike wonder (which was absolutely insane, considering he didn’t even like children.  There was a reason he’d decided to create a teenaged clone).  But if that was the case, Vlad supposed he wouldn’t be the Daniel he knew now.  It was probably for the best.

He sighed, and ran a gentle hand through thick stripped locks, marveling at the silky softness as it slid through his fingers.  It really was getting long, Vlad thought idly, scratching lightly across the scalp, delighted when the crease between Daniel’s eyes smoothed, and he sunk deeper into sleep with a content sigh.

Vlad lingered for a moment before withdrawing reluctantly, gathering up the basket again with a sigh of his own.  A nap would do the boy good, he reminded himself, so he’d best leave Daniel to it.

Of course, this meant he was back to square one with the laundry.  He was looking for Daniel in the first place to gather his dirty clothes so Vlad could start a load or two before dinner.

Well, perhaps he could still do that.  He could always take a detour into the boy’s room himself.  He was certain Daniel wouldn’t mind the intrusion; after all, he was simply retrieving laundry, so he wouldn’t be there long.

Decision made, he turned back, pausing to empty his basket in the laundry room before ascending the stairs once again to the wing that housed their personal quarters, hesitating for a moment before cracking open the door and entering Daniel’s room.  

It was strange, being here without the room’s main occupant.  He felt a bit like an intruder.  The space was shockingly well-kempt for belonging to a teenager, not that he was surprised; Daniel was hardly your average teenager.  

As expected, his dirty laundry was in the hamper, and Vlad wasted no time in sorting through it.  

Something was off, though. Vlad lived with his son, so of course he noticed that Daniel had started sweater season as soon as he no longer ran the risk of suffering heat stroke.  That meant there should be about two weeks’ worth of ripening knitwear, as none had been sent out recently.  But there were none to be found in the hamper, and, despite the fibers’ natural resistance to sweat and grime, it was certainly time for a wash.

Most, if not all, of Daniel’s sweaters were handmade, knitted by Vlad himself, so required special care.  He supposed Daniel could be keeping such garments separate in a display of caution. Conscientious, as always.  

Not that it was necessary; Vlad only hired the best, and, of course, always ran a brief inspection of the sorted garments before they were taken to the proper cleaning facilities. Details meant everything in his line of work, and his appearance was one of many he monitored personally.  Sure, he was a billionaire, and could afford purchase a new wardrobe any time he wished, but it hadn’t always been this way. He was taught to take pride in his possessions, and waste was unthinkable; far be it for him to neglect his roots.

Shaking himself out of his musings (he certainly was distracted today), he got back to the task at hand; finding the sweaters.  He supposed he could simply wait and ask Daniel during their evening session, but leaving the job half-done would bother him.

Vlad was a completionist to a fault, and knew that if he put this off, he ran the risk of losing his productive mood.  Not to mention the thought of the laundry sitting half-finished would torture him all evening; it would have been better to have not started at all.  And he wouldn’t wake the boy.  But this also toed the line of invasion of privacy.  

He weighed his options, and decided that a taking a brief look couldn’t hurt; he was already here, after all. In such a neat space, there weren’t exactly an abundance of hiding places.

He checked the walk-in closet first.  A thorough search left him baffled by the complete lack of sweaters, dirty or otherwise. He had checked the drawers (meticulously folded), hangers (formal wear was sorted by degree of formality then color), and even the floor (his shoes were lined up so perfectly he put showrooms to shame).

Daniel clearly treasured his possessions, and Vlad felt a rush of pride.  His son kept his space in perfect order, and everything had a logical place.  Except for the sweaters, it would seem.  Which didn’t make any sense.

His frustration grew as he continued to pace the room and failed to find a single one.  He was running out of ideas, and was uncomfortable at the thought of exploring much further.  On a whim, he ducked his head under the bed, admittedly feeling a bit foolish; this was one of the oldest clichés in the book.

But his eyes were immediately drawn to a large cedar chest, a copy of the one he himself used for keepsakes.  He had forgotten the boy had one as well; Daniel had been delighted with the gift, especially when Vlad had shown him the contents of its twin in his private study.

Vlad slid the heavy container out, running a hand across the sanded, weighty lid, hesitating for only a moment before giving in to his curiosity and lifting it before he could change his mind.

Sure enough, here were Daniel’s sweaters.  He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.  Mystery solved.  The quantity bordered on insane, way more than he remembered making, Vlad observed somewhat sheepishly.  What could he say?  He was a stress knitter.  

But he was particularly fascinated with the way the garments were packed.  Despite the large quantity, each sweater was folded with a degree of precision that spoke wordless volumes of care.  Handmade garments often had quirks; small flaws that made each piece unique, making it nearly impossible to pack them away neatly.  Daniel had somehow managed it by treating each sweater as an individual, modifying his folding technique slightly to ensure optimal fit.  Even the dirty ones were carefully folded, and placed on the smaller, right-hand side of the central divider.  It made his closet look sloppy in comparison.

Reluctant to ruin what was clearly several hours of work, Vlad carefully flipped through layers of sweaters, separated with tissue paper, the garments growing smaller as he descended. He was sure most of these didn’t have a hope of fitting Daniel any longer.  

One stood out from the others, though.  It rested at the very bottom of the heavy chest, and was individually wrapped, obscured by many layers of delicate tissue and tied loosely with string.  This deviation from the established system sparked Vlad’s curiosity further, overriding common sense, and before he knew it, he was carefully removing the wrappings.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.  

He drew in a sharp breath, unnerved, and delicately traced the ragged edge of a black-rimmed tear with shaking fingers, transfixed.  It extended downward from right shoulder to sternum in a great slice, like it had been severed with a hot knife.  

Bafflingly, someone had also gone to great lengths to attempt repair; the edges were joined with neat, if pointless, stitches.  Only the lack of patching material revealed that this was a rush job.  Admirable effort, but an exercise in futility nonetheless; nothing could hope to fix the charred edges.  

The garment was utterly ruined.  No wonder Daniel kept this one covered so well; it likely brought back unpleasant memories, but the boy clearly didn’t have the heart to get rid of it.

Upon closer inspection, Vlad realized he recognized this sweater.  The vague unease grew into a feeling far more unpleasant.

It was the first one he’d ever made for Daniel, not that he’d known that at the time.  It had been started with his own dimensions in mind, but modified on a whim; gold and green, stitched together with hands bathed in the eerie green glow of the incubation chamber.  

He had been a different person then, twisted by hatred and blinded by his obsession with the Fentons.

Each stitch had been formed in bitter anger, to keep him grounded, patient.  Clicking needles helped to cover up the maddening hiss of the central air system and the relentless beep of monitoring equipment.

He knew at his core that this would be the last plot, his last attempt to take what was rightfully his; should he fail yet again, the fallout would be devastating.  He would be unable to stop himself from giving up, from descending irrevocably into madness.  Because at the end of the day, hate was all he had, his only constant along with his pride. But hatred took energy, and he was tired.  So tired.

Lips curled in disgust as he ran the clumsily-constructed fabric sitting in his lap through his fingers, reliving the turmoil through the record of amateurish mistakes that littered the garment.  Each pucker and twist, invisible to the untrained eye, glared at him accusingly, reminding him of sins he could never atone for.  Made him sick with guilt as they whispered to him, reminded him of a time when Daniel had been merely an “it” and “the clone,” a tool he had every intention to use for revenge.

He was practically living in the dim, sterile, underground room, on standby to respond in a moment should the clone destabilize again.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in his own bed (he kept a cot down here), gotten more than two consecutive hours of sleep, or eaten something more substantial than the occasional protein bar. He carefully refrained from imagining the state of the companies he was neglecting.

But this stage of the project was too unpredictable to leave unattended, the clone’s outline in the cloudy fluid filling the tube bobbing peacefully up and down, blissfully unaware that its existence could end in an instant.  But he wouldn’t let that happen.  He would have his prize.  With a completely obedient half ghost by his side, he would rule.  He had taken no chances, had combined a stolen sample of the Fenton boy’s DNA with his own.  It was his ultimate weapon.  No one would be able to stop him. No one could keep him from his rightful place.

But throughout human history, it is in moments like these that astounding things can happen.  Picture a person building a perfect pyramid, finally reaching the absolute top, standing on that tiny, sharp pinnacle, at the very highest they can go.

It is when we are at this peak, feel the most unstoppable, have the firmest foundation, are the most confident in our convictions, that the smallest breeze can topple us over and force us to rethink the foundations of our self-constructed realities as we fall, force us to shift our reality; rebuild, or cease to exist.  

It is the small things that shake us to the core, that have the power to change us forever.

Be it stroke of luck, fate, divine intervention or pure coincidence, one such moment occurred in that sterile lab when a rare set of circumstances coincided.  The fluid ensconcing the clone ran clear for several minutes, reflex prompted new eyes to flutter open, and Vlad happened to look up.  

And looked into a familiar set of blue eyes that he hadn’t seen anywhere other than a mirror since his mother had passed away all those years ago (he had searched for her desperately after he learned the nature of his transformation, to no avail).  They may have been obscured by fluid, but the shape and shade were unmistakable; they were her eyes.  His eyes. Staring unseeingly back at him.

It was…disturbing, to say the least.  Blame it on sleep deprivation if you will, but he felt his mother’s eyes cut right through him, accusingly, judging him for his behavior in her absence.  Forcing himself to do something he had done his very best to avoid, in a way only she ever could.  

So Vlad Masters took an honest look at himself for the first time in several decades.  

And he wept, because he knew that she didn’t like what she saw, was disappointed in him.  He had known this, on some level; it was why he had been putting off this realization for years.  But, he was surprised to find that she wasn’t disappointed he had fallen so far; no, because she knew and he knew now, too, that he had fallen.  Which meant that he was capable of picking himself back up and hadn’t. He had chosen not to, had chosen temporary comfort over the harder but healthier path.  But he could do better.  He would do better.  If not for her than for himself.

And on that paradigm shift, he rebuilt his world.  The eyes closed.  

And Vlad, with fresh eyes, truly looked into the face of the being he created for the first time.  But dread overtook him when he realized he wasn’t seeing the face of a clone.  No, instead, he was looking into the face of a child.

It took him back to the first time he had met young Daniel at the college reunion, blindsided by an irrational rush of paternal pride and unspeakable longing to get to know this boy, realizing that he wasn’t, didn’t have to be alone anymore. (How wrong he was).

That familiar, fierce longing again surged to the surface, become part of his world once again.  A desire he had buried long ago when the hopelessness simply became too much to bear.

All he had ever wanted was someone to love.

He thanked everything he could think of that he hadn’t started the programming, that is, the brainwashing, yet. And he wouldn’t.  He’d keep the basic learning protocols, so the boy could communicate, have basic knowledge about the world, but nothing else. If he wanted a son, he’d earn his trust and affection the old-fashioned way.  The right way.

But he was forgetting something.  New hope warred with sick dread.  But why? What threatened his happiness now? Because this being he created wasn’t a tool, this was a child.  His child. So still.  So fragile.  

The realization opened the floodgates, and he fought to keep the rush of panic at bay. What had he done!?

Once again, in a display of arrogance and ignorance, he had put someone at risk.  He already cared too much about the boy, was once again on the verge of losing everything. Because the child, Daniel, was dangerously unstable.  He could die.

Vlad couldn’t let that happen.  

For the first time in years, he was truly terrified of the consequences of failure.  Because he wasn’t used to consequences.  In an instant, the project had evolved into a horrible tightrope walk between life and death. He hoped the anxiety wouldn’t kill him first.

It was touch and go for a small eternity.  Vlad lost sleep, hair, and his lunch to far more close calls than he cared to recall.  He was certain he aged about twenty years that month, trapped in a micro-hell of his own design; he still had nightmares about that innocent face devolving into ectoplasm, but awake, screaming in agony from the confines of the tube at a pitch that made his hair stand on end…

Vlad mentally shook himself. No.  He thought about this quite enough at night, no sense in dwelling on it during waking hours as well.  

Preoccupied with the stressful task of keeping Daniel alive, sleeping in the lab even after the boy had stabilized out of sheer paranoia, he realized he was woefully unprepared to care for a child; embarrassingly so.  He panicked when Daniel emerged from the tube, realizing he hadn’t given a thought about basic needs.  Like clothing, for example.  

His “newborn” was freezing; his small frame shook uncontrollably in the thin sterile gown as he was propped upright on a cot so Vlad could monitor his vitals, a pile of medical blankets doing little to combat the chill. The boy was in tears; uncomfortable and confused, agoraphobic and overwhelmed by this strange new world, so Vlad had grabbed the completed sweater instinctively and helped the boy into it, hoping the warm weight would ground him, rambling about inconsequential things to distract from the alarming machines as he worked to reattach feeds and wires.

He cringed; in hindsight, he had risked further overstimulation that way, and the outcome could have been disastrous.  His palms still grew slick with cold sweat, and his blood pressure skyrocketed whenever he thought about everything that could have gone wrong, all the mistakes he had made in those early days.  He cursed his stupidity.  

Vlad shook off his self-disgust in favor of gathering up the old sweaters, having forgotten his original task, otherwise occupied with the chaos of his memories.  They didn’t fit Daniel any longer, so there really wasn’t any sense in keeping them.  

It was embarrassing how amateurish they looked now.  They were an unwelcome reminder of a time when he was at an absolute low.  He just wanted them gone.  Especially that first one.  The marred fabric seemed to mock him.  Yes, better to dispose of it, and bury the anxiety and fear that came with it.

He gathered his legs under him with mild difficulty, surprised to discover he was a bit stiff—he had been kneeling on the floor longer than he thought—and glanced up at the doorway.

Only to lock eyes with Daniel, who stood, gaping, in the doorway, hand frozen in an abandoned attempt to straighten tousled locks.  Tension radiated from his too-still frame, and wide eyes flickered from confusion to shock to panic.

Vlad froze as well, uneasy; he had never seen this look in the boy’s eyes before, and never cared to again.  Sick dread pooled heavily in his stomach as all other thoughts evaporated; he knew without a doubt that something was very wrong.

“Dad,” Daniel whispered, hand dropping abruptly.  “What are you doing with those?”

His gaze lowered, fixed on the pile of sweaters in Vlad’s arms.  Vlad looked down as well, and blinked, bemused by the sudden lack of sweaters there.

Daniel hugged the garments to his chest tenderly, like a young child would cuddle a favorite stuffed toy for reassurance after a scare.  In moments like these, Vlad was reminded of how new to the world the boy really was; it was too easy to forget when he wore the skin of a teenager.

A familiar, irrational stab of loss joined the budding guilt and self-loathing; that strange yearning for early years that never occurred.  

Nostalgia must be a theme today, he thought idly.

Reason returned as he watched Daniel drop carefully to his knees a deliberate distance away to begin refolding the stack.  Vlad’s inquisitive and concerned gaze was studiously avoided as the boy focused entirely on the task at hand.

Careful hands guided handmade fabric into precise creases reverently, deep blue eyes gleaming with a look of concentration so intense, it might have been comical under different circumstances.  If he didn’t recognize the carefully constructed front for what it was.

Upset was an understatement; and despite an admirable effort, Daniel was unable to conceal the slight tremble that made his hands clumsy and slow, an obvious tell that only intensified the harder he tried to hide it.  

Overall, he gave the impression of one who had survived a close shave.  As the shock slowly abated, Vlad’s mental alarm bells became more insistent.  This reaction was a bit extreme, even for someone experiencing the emotional fragility that was part and parcel of an unplanned nap.  Something wasn’t quite right; he was missing some crucial detail.

“Daniel, what…” Vlad trailed off, at a loss, hands reaching toward the boy helplessly, then falling short, uncertain.  “What did I—”

“You were going to get rid of them, weren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. The words were tight, clipped. His eyes remained fixed studiously downward, even though it was obvious that he wasn’t truly looking at the abandoned sweater in front of him, fists clenched in an a futile attempt to suppress trembling fingers.

Daniel abruptly rocked back on his heels and wiped roughly at his face, shattering the invisible barrier between them, allowing Vlad to finally take action.  He scrambled in his haste to close the gap.  

He gathered the boy clumsily into his arms, and Daniel practically melted into the firm embrace before returning it fiercely, clinging to him in turn.  A striped head filled his peripheral vision, resting its comfortable weight on his shoulder, and soaked the light fabric covering it in warm wetness.

It was unclear how long they remained that way, respecting an unspoken agreement to set aside the circumstances for awhile in favor of comforting another; indulging in the unique security that came from holding a kindred spirit close.  

After a while, Daniel pulled away reluctantly, sniffling wetly and wiping halfheartedly at his nose. Vlad produced a fresh handkerchief and settled into a cross-legged position, facing the teen, waiting patiently for him to collect himself while he gathered his own thoughts.

“I apologize, Daniel,” he began, slowly, when the sniffles had eased, and the boy settled into a similar position, rolling edges of soft fabric anxiously between his fingers as he met Vlad’s gaze.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that I am at fault here, but I do admit that I’m not entirely sure what exactly I did to cause you this much distress.  Regardless, I should not have been in your room or searched through your things without your express permission.  I knew better, but I did it anyway.  I invaded your privacy, and for that, I am sorry.”

Daniel maintained eye contact, reddened and puffy appearance doing nothing to diminish the sincerity evident in their depths.

“I forgive you.”

There was no hesitation. The honest declaration mowed through Vlad’s emotional barriers, and his vision blurred as identical blue eyes prickled with tears of their own.  

He bit his lip.  His mistakes had long entrapped him, clinging fast and weighing him down.  Experience taught him that, once made, he would never be rid of them.  This knowledge, this fear, were iron shackles. It was his curse.  But this boy…

Never before had he known such forgiveness.  

Daniel absolutely hated to see his dad cry.  There was just something fundamentally wrong about seeing someone you cared about in distress.  So he was quick to reassure, hoping to fend off the flood and the inevitable interrogation.

“There’s really no harm done.  They’re all here, they’re safe.”

Honestly, this assurance was just as much for himself.  Of course, he would have forgiven Vlad regardless of the outcome; his dad was way more important to him than keepsakes, but this had come completely out of left field.  

He had always been so careful, and seeing his collection spread across the floor had been the last thing he had expected after trudging upstairs to finish his homework before training, cursing himself bitterly for falling asleep.    

He had really only meant to rest his eyes for a second or two, having gone distractingly cross-eyed while undoing his laces, falling instead into the deep kind of sleep that left one feeling fuzzy-headed and irritable upon waking instead of rested.

Daniel looked over at his favorite sweater, the one he had taken the most care to preserve.  As always, fury at the damage was tempered with fond warmth.  He flushed lightly, briefly recalling the circumstances of its repair.

His dad, who had since pulled himself together, followed his line of sight, brows drawing together in confusion, focused on the blackened article.  

“Why keep these?  Most are much too small, and this one,” he pulled the garment closer, “is damaged beyond repair.”

Daniel’s hands twitched instinctively, ready to come to the rescue at any moment.  

Honestly?  The thought of getting rid of them had never even crossed his mind, so he hadn’t.  And he felt much too strongly about the garments to ever consider it.

But his dad was looking at him expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer.  He had no idea how to put his jumbled thoughts and feelings on the matter into words, so he called upon the time-tested art of stalling.

“But you made them for me,” he settled on a basic truth, trying to buy a bit of time as he scrambled, struggling to string his thoughts into a pattern his dad would accept.

“I can make more, you know,” Vlad pointed out reasonably.  “There’s no sense holding on to something that’s outlived its usefulness. At this point, they’re just clutter—”

“They’re important to me!” Daniel snapped, and Vlad blanched, drawing back in shock.  

Daniel’s eyes widened, immediately regretting his outburst.

He didn’t mean to yell at his father!  But that statement hit distressingly close to home.  It was like Vlad wasn’t talking about the sweaters at all.  For a moment, his nightmares were playing out before his eyes…

He forcefully shoved his insecurities to the back of his mind in favor of running damage control; he had hurt his dad, and he looked on guiltily as his father struggled to school his features into a neutral position.

“I’m sorry, Dad!” Daniel rushed to explain, mentally kicking himself for his tone.

“I would never get rid of these.  I just can’t. You spent so much time on them, and it makes me feel cared for, kind of important, you know?”  

He traced the hem of the special one, eyes softening as his face heated up, but he was determined to get this out before he could talk himself out of it.  “Not to mention they’re basically portable hugs.  You’re with me all day this way.”

He hadn’t exactly wanted to give quite that much away.  But if he had to choose between his pride and his dad, his dad would win every time. It was the truth, after all, and he knew he had made the right choice when his dad’s eyes softened, and he was swallowed in his embrace once again.

Daniel had learned a long time ago that his father’s hugs went beyond the physical; they were part of an extensive nonverbal language, expressing what words simply could not.  

Because he maintained a stern public image, a necessity in his line of work, most people didn’t realize that his father was a very emotional man.  Daniel had seen how often he was misunderstood and slighted by his peers (to Daniel’s fury) because they never experienced this.  

For someone who claimed to have little experience in the area of affection, he sure didn’t act like it. Daniel still had no idea how he managed it, how exactly he coordinated the variations of timing and pressure into such clear but complex expressions.  This time, Vlad was conveying relief, awe, gratitude, and as always, more than anything, love.

The guilt intensified, sitting heavy and low in his stomach.  He didn’t deserve this.  He’s such a hypocrite, furious when others fail to appreciate his father, but hasn’t he done the same thing?  Vlad cared so much, almost too much, about other people; he would do anything for the ones he loved, for Daniel.  Anything.  And yet, Daniel was upset because he had tried to declutter.

Of course, Daniel is fully aware that this isn’t exactly the reason he’s upset, but he’s very careful to avoid the thought.  Now is not the time to think about this.  It’s much easier to tell himself he’s simply sentimental.  Nothing else.  

Vlad’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly, seeking reassurance, and Daniel pushed aside the painful train of thought, eager to provide it.  

He returned the embrace fiercely; he loves his dad more than anything, and he was determined to convey this. He knows he can’t hold a candle to Vlad’s raw skill in this area, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

He must have succeeded to some degree, because he feels his dad relax a bit.  Daniel sighed, settling his head once again onto a broad shoulder, still a bit damp from earlier, and takes the opportunity to burn this moment into his memory, to add it to his collection.  

He savored the slight tickle of grey locks on his upper check, sprung loose from their ties; the pleasant burn of cologne mixed with a scent that was simply Vlad drying his sinuses and coating the back of his tongue; the unnatural heat radiating through his silky shirt, warm and comfortable. For a small eternity, he knows nothing but safety, comfort, and love, and basks in the feeling.  

They eventually break apart and, once again, take a moment to collect themselves before Vlad looks again to Daniel’s favorite sweater.

“What happened?” he ventured, concerned by the implication that someone had attacked his son in human form (and rightfully so), but reluctant to upset Daniel further.

Daniel gathered it up with a sigh, reluctant to delve into complicated memories again.  He began to refold the garment, grateful for the excuse to avoid eye contact as he, fumbled for an answer that would satisfy his father, struck with an annoying sense of déjà vu.

“I took care of it. Doesn’t exactly fix this, though.”

Vlad sighed; he knew that truth all too well.

They kneeled there awkwardly for a moment, neither entirely what to do, caught in that strange limbo that followed any major argument; that period where you tell yourself everything’s okay now, but you know deep down that it’s a lie.  Because the cycle of injury, apology, and forgiveness isn’t some magic fix, and no relationship pops back to how it was before even though the issue has been resolved.  Things weren’t really okay yet, and they probably wouldn’t be for a little while.

Honestly, the invasion of privacy didn’t sting nearly as much as his own insecurities; he’d move on. But would Vlad?

Daniel glanced surreptitiously his father.  Vlad was an expert at the practiced neutral face, but Daniel knew better; his poor father would be beating himself up about this for days.  

Sure, he was still a bit shaken, but nothing had happened.  Vlad was just too hard on himself.  He had been a mess for weeks that time he had broken Daniel’s nose after opening a door too quickly, despite the fact it had healed without a scare in a matter of days. He had hated the way his father had tiptoed around him, hated that tortured look in his eyes as the incident no doubt looped in his mind, on repeat; over and over again.

If only there was a way to reassure his dad that he still had Daniel’s trust, a way to break through his uncertainly.  He played with a loose hem pensively, cursing the circumstances that had led Vlad to rummage through his sweater box in the first place…

Sweaters.  It was so obvious.

He gathered up the unwearable sweaters into a neat pile again.  He was embarrassed by how reluctant he was to go through with this, but if he had to choose between his dad’s happiness and sweaters that didn’t even fit anymore, well…

There really wasn’t a choice at all.

He got to his feet, and hefted the pile (there really were a lot of them), depositing them in his father’s arms.  He smiled wryly as his dad looked down at the pile, bewildered, before raising his gaze and quirking an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Take them.”

Vlad blinked, lips parted slightly to respond, before they shut again.  He glanced to the side, brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to reconcile the large volume of mixed messages he had received that afternoon.

“What?” he asked, settling on the explanation that, somehow, he had simply misheard.

“Take them.” Daniel maintained firm eye contact, staring into blue pools identical to his own.  “You were right, they don’t even fit me anymore.”

“But, Daniel, those are yours,” Vlad sputtered, intelligently.

Daniel smiled softly.

“They were.  But now I want you to have them.”

Vlad looked helplessly at the pile, as if it held the answer to the puzzle that was currently throwing him for a loop.

“But why, Daniel?  You told me you love those sweaters.”

He left his father on the floor and walked to the door, grabbing his backpack on the way.  He’d do some homework at the kitchen table for a while, give his dad some time alone to process.  He paused in the doorway, a melancholy smile pulling at his lips as he gave his answer over his shoulder.

“I do.  But I love you more.”

                                                      ><><

This particular project normally would have taken months; Vlad had it done in one.  But not because he had rushed; no, he made absolutely certain it was perfect.  Nothing less for Daniel.  He didn’t sleep much anyways.

Daniel’s demonstration had the intended effect; knowing he still had his son’s trust even after his mistake meant the world to him.  

It had been a shock, at first.  He hadn’t known what to think when the boy handed his treasured pile of clothing over with barely an explanation.  It had been more difficult than he’d like to admit, allowing his son to walk away after sharing such a sentiment, leaving him on the floor to collect his thoughts. But after the shock (finally) wore off, the implications of the gesture warmed him to the core.  

(He also was trying his best not to dwell on the implication that someone attacked Daniel.  His son.  In human form, no less.  Because if he thought about that for too long, it took him to a dark place.  He trusted Daniel.  He did.  But surely it hadn’t been out of line to investigate the incident himself, not that he found anything, to his frustration.)

By the time training had begun that evening, Daniel appeared to have forgotten all about the incident. To the untrained eye, that is. Vlad had to give credit where credit was due; he had admirable focus during training and finished all his homework, but he’d caught a glimpse of him with the cedar chest out again later that evening on his way to bed; reorganizing.

Vlad truly had no idea the boy was so fond of the sweaters.  He could have kicked himself.  He thought he knew his son so well; how had he missed something so important to him?  Sure, he always beamed and hugged him whenever Vlad presented him with a new one (which may have contributed to the vast number now that he thinks about it, hmm…) but then again, Daniel always thanked him for gifts, equally delighted be it a motorbike or a new toothbrush.

In hindsight, though, the favoritism for knitwear was obvious, in the way his eyes would light up just that much brighter, how he’d wear it the very next day.  And his words…

They’re basically portable hugs.  You’re with me all day this way.

He had replayed this exchange countless times over the past month, the warmth in his chest just as strong as day one.  Never before had he known such happiness.  Such love.

His eyes prickled a bit. It was strange kind of responsibility, to have such a significant role in the happiness of someone else.  He both cherished and feared it in equal measure, terrified he would wake up one day, and he’d realize he’d imagined this whole thing. Or worse, that he would drive Daniel away himself one day, just like every other important person in his life. He’d be alone again.

For years, he chased a mirage of this feeling, feeding his obsession with a woman who would never return his affections, and later, her son.  At some point, he had given up, resigned himself to a lifetime of loneliness and swore revenge instead. He had cursed his failures, then.

Now, he thanked whatever power was responsible for those failures; any “victory” he may have achieved during that time, which now felt like lifetimes ago, would have been a mockery of the affection he craved, a mere taste that would have eventually driven him mad with longing.  Daniel had freely given him what he’d never dreamed could exist.  And it meant the world to him.

He didn’t deserve Daniel. But for some unknown reason, he had decided to stay.  He was the first person who had chosen Vlad above all others, and Vlad longed to show him how much he meant to him.  

He would continue to make the boy sweaters.  Socks. Hats.  Scarves.  Heck, he’d learn how to sew properly and make all his clothes, if it meant this much to him. But one step at a time.

On that note, Vlad put the finishing touches on the piece, feeling the strange mixture of melancholy and satisfaction he experienced whenever he completed a long-term project.  

And to his delight, it turned out much better than he had hoped.  He had conducted extensive research regarding design and technique; it was pretty far out of his comfort zone, and he only had one chance to get it right.  But it was worth it.  Anything for Daniel.

He took a moment to appreciate the fruits of his labor before packing it away with the utmost care.

Everything had to be perfect.

                                                     ><><

Something was up. Daniel’s eyes narrowed as he watched his dad make breakfast.  The change was subtle.  Only someone who saw the man on a daily basis would notice the difference; he was almost twitchy, movements sharp and almost harried as he fixed Daniel’s plate.  

His Dad placed the food in front of him with a quiet “good morning” and a tired smile.  Daniel noted the bruises under his eyes were darker than usual.  Daniel thanked him before focusing on his plate, inhaling sharply at its contents.

Pancakes.  In fun shapes.

Oh no.  It was worse than he thought.

He kept stealing glances at his dad as he ate, watched him worry at the handle of his coffee mug and pick at his own pancakes.  Daniel hated to leave him like this, but really, there wasn’t anything to be done when Vlad was in one of these moods.  And his dad wouldn’t want him to miss school.

If he lingered a bit during his goodbye hug, his dad didn’t comment.  Just bid him to have a good day, like usual.

Daniel tried to go about his day as he normally did, but was unable to shake the concern for his father. They texted as per their habit during his lunch break, in between laughing with his friends, but Vlad seemed a bit…distracted, he supposed.

(His friends could have told him that Vlad wasn’t the only one, but, like all good friends, they didn’t comment, opting instead to respect his privacy, confident that he would talk when and if he wanted to.)

Needless to say, Daniel wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when he crossed the Masters’ threshold that afternoon, hanging his jacket on the rack and shouldering his backpack, anxious to check on his father.

“Dad, I’m home!”

No answer.

He deposited his keys in the dish, and moved through the entryway, calling twice more, trying not to worry when he was met with silence.  

While uncommon, it wasn’t unheard of for Daniel to get home before Vlad.  But with the mood his dad was in that day, he was on edge.  Normally, he would text Daniel when he was working late.

Daniel sighed, running his fingers lightly along the wall of pictures as he made his way down the hall and up the staircase, deciding to distract himself with a bit of schoolwork while he waited for his dad to get back.  He hoped he was alright.

Daniel deposited his backpack beside his desk, taking a moment to kick off his shoes before pulling out his phone to text his dad, making his way over to sit on his bed, glancing up to check the height (his muscle memory wasn’t the most reliable these days; he was running into furniture and walls so often that his dad often joked about childproofing) only to stop short.  There was already something sitting there.

It was a box of medium size, just short of being too large to hold comfortably with two hands, wrapped simply but neatly in white paper.  Resting on top was a light green envelope, with his name inked in gold in a familiar hand.

He furrowed his brows, perplexed, and set aside his phone to pick up the envelope.  Unless he was very much mistaken, this was a present from his dad. Strange.

Not that surprise presents were an unusual occurrence; on the contrary, his dad loved giving him gifts, much more than Daniel enjoyed receiving them.  The quantity had been truly ridiculous at first.  It took a while for him to convince his father to relax, admitting that while he appreciated the thought and attention, he felt guilty that he was unable to reciprocate.  So they had compromised, agreeing to save gifting for special occasions.

Of course, Vlad pushed the boundaries of this rule, but it made him so happy to do nice things for Daniel that the teenager didn’t have the heart to call him out.  As long as he didn’t go overboard, Daniel had decided he could live with the occasional surprise.

He picked at the flap of the heavy paper envelope.  

But, unlike any other time his dad gave him a gift, he wasn’t here.  Daniel knew from experience that the real fun of gift-giving came from watching the recipient’s reaction.  

And his dad’s absence was clearly intentional.  Vlad was a master of presentation; the private location combined with the open and inviting position of the box and envelope was not coincidental.  Not to mention his unusual absence from the house at large.  And no audience meant no pressure, no need to control his reactions with the feelings of other in mind, free to be himself.

Which meant it was a gift intended for Daniel and Daniel alone.  He was touched.  And intrigued.

He finally managed to get a thumb under the tight seal, prying the glue apart slowly, careful to leave the envelope intact.  He pulled out a sheet of simple off-white stationary, revealing a message in his father’s distinctive hand.  

Daniel chuckled a bit; for someone so detail-oriented, his handwriting was atrocious.  He sat down, and began to read.

Dear Daniel,

I apologize for violating your privacy and your trust about a month ago.  I have no excuse.  I allowed my curiosity to overrule my common sense and overstepped your boundaries.  Worse, I used this knowledge to impose my will when it was neither wanted nor necessary, failing to respect your space, and by extension, you.  I am sorry, Daniel, for this, and any similar past missteps that I failed to recognize.

I cannot promise you that something similar will not happen again; I promise to try my best, but as much as I pretend otherwise, truly, I have no idea what I’m doing.  You are the first person I have shared a space with in over twenty years, and those past examples did not end well.  Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I successfully drove away everyone close to me.  I hurt people.  I’d like to think that I’m a bit wiser now, but I know that’s not entirely true.

To be completely honest, I’m terrified, Daniel.  You are my only son.  I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you as well.  And I did hurt you, that day.  Others have left for far less.

Imagine my surprise when you forgave me so easily.  I simply couldn’t believe that it could be that easy.  You know that I trust you, Daniel, but you have to understand that years of evidence to the contrary are not so easily ignored.  

And then you decided to prove that there were no hard feelings; you gave the subject of my betrayal back to me, as a sign of good faith.  Your prized possessions.  Given freely.

I suspect you don’t have any idea clue how truly special you are.  So selfless, so kind.  If I hadn’t had such an involved role in your creation, I never would have believed that you were my child.

So thank you, Daniel.  Thank you for being you.

Daniel blinked back tears, taken aback by the forthright nature of the letter.  It was just so honest, so Vlad that he wasn’t sure if he should shake his head or cry.  Honestly, he was a bit disappointed; he had thought that his show of trust with the old sweaters had been enough to assure him of Daniel’s sincerity, and relieve him of guilt.

He loved the man, but it killed him how stubborn he could be.  He didn’t need to apologize again; Daniel had been tired that day, and overreacted, reading farther into the situation than he should have.  They were just a bunch of old sweaters.  This was his dad.  Why couldn’t his dad see that?

He decided to move on, rubbing at his eyes, unable to suppress a snort at the next line:

Now, because I know you, I’m certain that unlike every other teenager in existence, you read the card first. So do me a favor, please; open up the box before you read the rest.

He shook his head.  No one knew him like his dad.  He’d worry about the implications of his predictability later.

For now, he took the box into his lap; it had heft, but wasn’t heavy, per se.  He turned the package over, searching for the seams, and methodically pried tape away from the wrappings, careful not to tear the paper, savoring the anticipation.

He set the paper aside, and grasped the lid of the oversized white cardboard clothing box, prying it away from the bottom half, and brushed aside green and yellow tissue paper.  His hands began to shake.

He was greeted with something familiar, yet new.  He traced the old knit pattern, yarn soft from wear, but freshly laundered.  He tried a couple of times to lift the bulky block of fabric from the box, but it was packed tight, and he was unable to find purchase.  So he gave up and turned the box over onto the sheets instead, then unfolded its contents, eager to see the piece in its entirety.  He gaped.

They were all here. All of his old sweaters, the ones that he had given to Vlad that day.  The ones that he reluctantly put aside one by one when he could no longer slip into their warm embrace.  He had mourned the loss of the memories that went with each one, resigned to enjoy them as mere keepsakes.  

He didn’t regret giving them to his dad, but he had missed them.

Here they were, but not as they were; the torsos had been divested of the sleeves and divided in half down the sides, former front and back forming large patches that were sewn methodically onto an oversized sheet of ultra-soft fabric.  Parts of the sleeves had been repurposed into artful borders to separate individual sweaters.  The construction had been stuffed lightly, and formed a type of quilt.

Overall, the effect was stunning, striking a perfect balance between respect for the past and celebration of a new era.  

As far as he could tell, every salvageable part of his collection had a place.

In the middle, framed like a piece of art, was the front of his favorite sweater.  His first one, complete with mar and repair job.  He traced his friend’s handiwork reverently, taking a moment to reflect before taking action.

He arranged the quilt on top of his comforter, admiring the personal touch it brought to his space.  He itched to burrow under it immediately, but he knew better; there was no way he’d be able to avoid falling asleep right now if he was that warm.

It was, without question, the most thoughtful gift he had ever received.  So much time and care had been poured into this.  He had no idea how his dad had managed to organize the diverse collection into the aesthetically-pleasing and functional piece of art resting on his bed. He felt a rush of concern for his dad.  When had he found time to sleep this month?

With a jolt, Daniel remembered that he still had half a letter to read.  

He bit his bottom lip, conflicted, and decided to take a calculated risk; he burrowed socked feet under the quilt and shimmied down to his hips, sighing in delight.  The warm weight was unbelievably comfortable, and his feeling of nostalgia only intensified with contact. He had missed this.  His dad’s voice colored the rest of the text.

Life is full of change.  I often did my best to resist it, believing it could bring only pain.  You have taught me that this isn’t always the case.  Change can bring pain, but it often brings benefits as well.  Especially when it brings about growth.

Take your sweaters for example. You were, and still are, incredibly fond of them, despite the fit becoming uncomfortable as you outgrew them.  To continue to grow unhindered, you had to take the small sweaters off.

You’ll continue to grow in many different ways.  I look forward to seeing who you will become.  

But you will find that you will outgrow more than old sweaters in the course of your life.  Mindsets, routines, places.  At some point, you’ll realize that they’re no longer as comfortable as you remember, but moving on can be hard.  

When you reach the point of no return, Daniel, you must promise me you won’t linger.  Trying to fit into that “old sweater” again, as tempting as it is, will only bring you pain.

I regret to say I speak from experience.  I was stuck, for many years, trying to fit into my own “sweater,” denying the restriction because it was all I had.  I was stuck, longing to change my circumstances, but unwilling to release my hold on the “then” and embrace the “now.”  

It was painful, to say the least. I wallowed in anger for years, refusing to share blame, placing it fully on the shoulders of my friends, pushing them away.  Then I wondered why I was always unhappy and alone, with only my dark thoughts to keep me company.

I was still that person when you came along.  No hope, intent on using you as a tool for revenge and conquest.  But you were greater than I ever dreamed, far more than I could ever hope: A person.  My son.

It terrified me; you were too good for this world, too good for me.  And I was ashamed, thought myself unworthy to be your father, terrified I’d ruin you. That I’d fail you.

Please don’t make my mistakes.  Make your own.  Grow.  Live.  

Let this quilt remind you that it’s okay to remember the past, but not to dwell on it.  With some imagination, your memories can grow with you.   The past has its place, but life can only continue when you let go.

You taught me this, Daniel.  Let me return the favor.

And no matter what else in your life may change, you can rest easy with the knowledge that I will always be here for you, for as long as you’ll have me.

I am so proud of you, son.  I can’t wait to see what kind of man you’ll become.  

I love you.

-Vlad

An ugly mix of tears and snot streamed unchecked down Daniel’s face, dripping off his chin onto his shirt, arms carefully outstretched to preserve the letter.  

Sure, parts were a bit embarrassing. And sad.  But while his dad expressed his love often enough verbally, it was a different experience altogether see it in writing.  It felt more authentic, somehow.  Perhaps it was the deliberation that was required to record such a sentiment on paper; completely separate from the heat of the moment.  Sincere.

Today had been a roller coaster of emotion, from pancakes to quilts; he was exhausted.

When he first slid under the blanket, he had thought he’d never want to get up, reminded of his dad’s embrace.  But now, he found himself longing for nothing less than the real thing, confident he knew where his dad had been hiding under the circumstances.

In his haste, he elected to phase out from under the quilt, pausing only to set the letter carefully on his desk before phasing through several walls into Vlad’s private study.

Sure enough, there he was. Daniel barely registered that the man was staring blankly, hunched over an old photo album before it was lost from sight as he released the transformation and buried him in a hug from behind, over his shoulders and the desk chair.

Vlad tensed at first, so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the boy come in.

“Thank you,” Daniel whispered.

Vlad relaxed, closing the book before turning around with a tentative smile.

Daniel let go, and Vlad stood so he could hug his son properly.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!  I hope you had just as much fun as I did writing it!  I’m pretty new to writing fiction (I normally write research papers), so I’d appreciate any feedback you’d be willing to give me.  Feel free to point out any mistakes or oversights!  Overall, I’m really happy with how this turned out.  I guess fifth times’ the charm and all that.  I was concerned about the pacing being too slow, so I’m curious to see what you guys think.

I’m also open to requests!  Feel free to hit me up.  I have a few more shorts planned in this universe, namely, the story of how Daniel’s favorite sweater was damaged and an, admittedly, crack-ish short where Vlad and Daniel react to the sketch that started it all (Vlad commissions a family portrait, but has mixed feelings about the result); but after that, nothing’s planned, but I do have a couple of vague ideas.

Thanks for reading!

[springawoken]

No One is As They Seem- An Analysis of Undertale’s Ruins

It’s no secret that Undertale is one of the most popular games of the last decade. It’s touched hearts, touched lives, and made fans all over the world recontextualize their understanding of what it means to play a video game. As anyone who has played the game will tell you, the reasons for this can only be gleaned by actually playing the game, so go ahead and buy it on steam for $10 and make your life a little bit more meaningful. This post will only cover the first area of the game, the Ruins, so you’ll be able to understand it even without playing, but I still recommend you play the game before reading. This piece is, at its most basic, an analysis of this area and how Toby Fox uses all the (free) tools at his disposal to create atmosphere in his game. The very first thing that stood out to me about Undertale as soon as I booted it up was the cheery chiptune soundtrack. Though the first three notes of the melody are simple, an octave up followed by a fifth down, we already hear dissonance creeping into the accompaniment with dissonant harmonies. These first few moments were far too subtle for me to notice on my first trek through the game, but in retrospect I see that the connection between the broader themes of the game and the musical choices is too spot on to be a coincidence, namely that people are not always as they seem. The melody established in this first number, called the “Undertale” theme by most, is elaborated on and experimented with throughout the rest of the game, but its theme is most often used at safe zones, or anywhere that feels like home. The brief introduction introduces you to the War Between Monsters and Humans, and explains that your character has fallen down a mountain into the Monster World. After this, you are escorted to the menu, where you name your character and, after a slightly unsettling transition, begin the game. You gain control of your character and are greeted by pixel graphics and utter silence. Past a hallway, you encounter a door, and a happy looking flower named “Flowey the Flower.” Immediately, super chipper music kicks in to let you know “Don’t worry, this guy is super nice and cool!” The theme is set in a major key, high above where music usually is played, to emphasize this. The theme also directly references the F.U.N. song from Spongebob, as if to further drive this point home. All seems to be going well until… well, until Flowey tries to kill you. The happy music is replaced with silence and aggressive text scrolling noises as Flowey laughs at your imminent death. Just as all hope is lost, though, you’re saved by the anthropomorphic goat Toriel, and are greeted with the best theme in the game, Fallen Down. Before we continue, let’s analyze the quick 1-2 punch that’s pulled with the music and character development here. Gamers are used to music playing over just about everything in an RPG, so its absence through the first room of the game is noticeable, or at least was to me. The silence is uncomfortable, just as it would be if you were to fall down a hole and wind up in a dark scary place. A talking, smiling flower would be a welcome sight in such a situation, and the music reflects this. Flowey’s betrayal is a gut punch because we’ve been trained, as gamers, to believe that what we’re shown through character design and music is what it seems at face value. In this case, though, the cute flower is evil, and the mildly creepy Goat Mom is on your side. Flowey bucks many trends when he stops his happy theme dead in its tracks and tries to kill you. When Toriel appears to save the day, her theme at first might seem like a trap as well, meant to lull the player into a second twist, but the music tells us otherwise. Whereas Flowey’s theme is obnoxiously cheerful after a while, due to the high tessitura, “Fallen Down” is played in a soothing middle register, with much softer instrumentation and a triple meter. The song is reminiscent of a lullaby, with plenty of repetition at regular intervals to comfort the listener. It is also more fully realized than Flowey’s stark, heavily EQed melody and accompaniment. After this encounter, Toriel leads the protagonist through the beginning of the ruins, where we hear the second most important theme in the game, what I call the “World” theme and ostinato. This theme is repeated and expanded upon throughout every area of the game, with one exception, as detailed in Jason Yu’s Undertale Leitmotif analysis (linked below). When we first hear it, though, all we can tell is that it creates a good deal of mystery. The melody is seemingly always ascending higher and higher, creating an atmosphere of constant anticipation. It creates a great background to explore and solve puzzles against as you navigate your way through the ruins, both with and without Toriel. This is the atmosphere we have throughout the entire first area, with the exception of a few joke tunes (brushing over them for time), and the battle theme, which we’ll get to now. Undertale has a slightly different encounter system than most other Role Playing Games. The gist of it, to wildly simplify things, is that every encounter can be resolved either through combat or through peaceful means. The challenge comes not from the attacking, but from the defending, which takes place in a “Bullet Hell” like screen where your heart must avoid enemy projectiles. The battles are always intense, and the “Enemy Approaching” theme demonstrates this. The tune is brisk, with a good old accent on 2 and 4 from the powerful percussion. It creates a constant feeling of anticipation, keeping you on your toes, ready for anything. This tune, though, is only the generic enemy theme. Boss themes are where things get fun. Your first boss encounter, after plenty of fights with frogs and butterflies, is with a sad ghost named Napstablook. As we’ve covered, no one in Undertale needs to die, and Napstablook is one of the enemies that sold me on that concept. In fact, it’s so hard to even take damage in his fight that the first time I played, I felt bad even thinking about killing him. His personality is so lacking in self-esteem that one would have to be truly heartless to do anything but cheer him up. This was coupled with his theme, “Ghost Fight.” This theme is a jaunty swing number, accentuating the fun of his battle, with a fascinating reverb effect on the off beats. It truly sounds like you’re fighting a sad ghost. As Napstablook does progressively sillier things, one can’t help but smile. After beating Napstablook, the emotional core of the game begins. The player reaches Toriel’s house, at which point she gives him a home, a bed, and some Butterscotch-Cinnamon Pie. The music that plays over this sequence, fittingly, is called “Home,” and utilizes the Undertale theme liberally. It is a gentle guitar track, almost like a lullaby. When the player finally goes to bed, the instrumentation changes from guitar to a music box. This instrumentation choice in particular was what struck me most about this moment, and genuinely made me tear up. The gentle nature of the track contrasts sharply with the severity of the moment. It brought to mind what this poor child must be feeling, having been given solace in a foreign land so far away from home. When the player asks her to go home, Toriel becomes agitated and runs to the basement. The music cuts away as the player descends and Toriel expresses her fear and concern for the player’s safety. She decides to seal the Ruins off so that the child can never leave. The only choice is to fight her. Right? Cue “Heartache,” my personal favorite track in the game. The motif of 4 16th notes followed by an 8th is repeated later in the game at another pivotal moment, but for now all the player knows is that things just got crazy intense. Part of this intensity comes from the fact that this is the first track written in compound meter, which immediately ramps up the interest curve for this fight. This track also is the most complex of anything we’ve seen in the game thus, with a virtuosic quality to its rhythms and incredibly quick harmonic motion. The most fascinating part of the track for me is the pseudo-ostinato Toby creates with the low bass tone every beat, almost emulating a heartbeat. This motif carries through the entire song, being present even as the supporting harmonies fly up and down the staff. This song is EPIC, and really makes it seem like Toriel means business now. As has been the case this whole game, though, things are not always as they seem. This fight is a crash course in narrative through gameplay, so let’s talk quickly about something that Toby Fox does to completely mess with the player and make Toriel a fully fleshed out character at the same time. Every enemy up to this point in the game has allowed you to spare them by dropping their HP low enough, and then hitting the yellow “Spare” button. With Toriel, though this is impossible. When you get her to about ¼ hp, your next attack will kill her no matter what. ACTing, which has been the other way to spare enemies in this game, also does nothing to turn the Spare button yellow. As it turns out, the only way to make Toriel sparable is to choose the Spare action repeatedly, until she gives up out of love for the player. Everyone I’ve ever met who played the game blind, including myself, killed Toriel on their first run because we couldn’t think of anything else to do. The plot twist that most of us realized on our second playthroughs is that, despite the epic boss music, Toriel will not attack you if there is any chance of you dying. This is something that triple A game designers might take note of. In Undertale, characterization and gameplay are one and the same. As we can see just from the first area, Undertale is a game that makes no moves lightly. Every choice, be it in the graphics, music, or gameplay, is a conscious choice that adds to the world-building and character development. This aspect of the game is what is so endearing about it, because everything, especially the music, feels like it was made with love. Unlike Wagner’s operas, which use rather heavy handed methodologies to enforce the meanings of their leitmotifs, Undertale’s messages are simpler and subtler, leaving far more room for interpretation while being simultaneously more enjoyable to explore. Those who fail to see video games as a consummate art form need only look to this classic game to see all the ways in which games can express our human condition.

Leitmotifs in Undertale: http://jasonyu.me/undertale-part-1/

Full Soundtrack on Spotify and at the following link: https://tobyfox.bandcamp.com/album/undertale-soundtrack

Purchase the game on Steam!

[attackingstarfish]

Just finished LoZ: Wind Waker...

I normally never post, but I recently wrapped up Wind Waker HD (Yes, I’m late to the party), and it is so far removed from the usual Zelda fare that I just had to compile my thoughts. And if I’m compiling my thoughts, I might as well yell them into the void.

You will have to show me physical proof that Wind Waker is not Ocarina of Time from the Opposite Dimension, where windows are the primary means of entering your house and people worship at the altar of Hello Games, because despite me being almost exactly as satisfied with Wind Waker HD as I was with Ocarina of Time 3D, the greatest sources of joy are flipped with the biggest annoyances between the two games.

Yay!

Breath of the Wild had won me over in part because the entire world felt cohesive; you could go anywhere on the map without having to encounter a single loading screen, and I had no idea Wind Waker did the same thing. The Great Sea is a vast trove of trees, pirates, and treasure, with the occasional giant squid attack or salutation from the Flying Dutchman. Each of the 49 segments contains an island that is often unique in purpose, and you’re very rarely sent to a specific island for a specific item by a specific character. Instead, the entire overworld becomes open to you as soon as you grab your sail on Windfall Island, and you have a literal sea of knowledge before you as the 49 fish that serve as your guidebook to the game take their places.

A couple of islands start off closed, unable to be reached until you get the Iron Boots or the Bow or the Hulk Hogan suplex manual, but that’s it as far as what you can’t reach, and the squares of ocean containing even these islands can be reached as early as any other zone, fish and all. The fish are easy to spot, splashing around near their respective region’s landmass, and to reward taking to initiative to explore, a surprising amount of what they tell you can be put to use immediately, like the location of the all-new extra-fast wind-changing sail the remake’s added to speed up travel. Good thing, too, because there’s a point where travel time stops being buildup and becomes padding, especially when you have to dance a round of Hands Up every time you want to change direction. Later in the game, when you’re better equipped, you could stop by one of those islands you couldn’t figure out earlier on, and figure out what to do with just one more trip around the border. Nothing pops up on your map to indicate that suddenly you’re able to access anything new, and your boat doesn’t  wonder whether the eastmost pillar on island A7 has met any nice hookshot targets lately. The game trusts that you can navigate the uses for your gear yourself, which I value. Fewer tutorials, more expectations.

Even the story serves the game’s hands-off attitude. Ocarina starts with Link going into the Deku Tree to purge it of some unspecified evil (What exactly does Gohma do in there, anyway?) before coming out to be told of his fate to kill a man he has never met before and become Hyrule’s savior. Link takes up the mantle in that game only because the gods who have not and will never make a proper appearance want him to do it. Meanwhile, Wind Waker opens with Link putting on the green tunic to make his grandmother happy for a day, right before his sister, who clearly adores him, gets kidnapped by a giant bird, and he teams up with pirates to sneak into a fortress and rescue her but instead gets bitch-slapped by Ganondorf, who turns out to own the place and the bird. In addition to being awesome because pirates kick ass, Link’s introduction to the man who wants him dead feels a lot more natural here, and Ganondorf doesn’t even come into the plot for real until the second half of the game. Link’s got a sister to save, and everything he’ll do to accomplish that goal will demonstrate him to be worthy of the Master Sword, which itself seems to prefer this organic sort of journey, seeing as the Link who set out to get the Master Sword from the beginning ended up locked in solitary confinement by the thing while it allowed the man it was created to kill to instead take over the world. Evidently the Master Sword is a strong, independent blade beholden to no one who can’t think for themselves, and anyone who disagrees can spend some quality time with the nice old man who loves to talk and talk and talk and talk.

The characters in Wind Waker feel more on the dynamic side than Ocarina’s. At first I was a bit surprised that i felt that way considering Ocarina had you view two very different versions of Hyrule, but Ocarina’s characters either don’t change in personality much between time periods or don’t make an appearance in one of the two at all. Talon’s still lazy in the future, the carpenters are still idiots, the Lake Hylia scientist is still mad, the Kokiri of course don’t change at all, you see none of the Zoras after their caves are frozen over, etc. Not to mention Ganondorf, who doesn’t get much beyond “evil Gerudo thief king who wants to take over the world because of reasons,” even if he gets a bit further than many movie/game villains and is able to demonstrate exactly what he’d do while in charge and why he’s so dangerous. Wind Waker, meanwhile, has even a fair few one-off characters with their own tiny arcs. Mila goes from stuck-up rich kid to poor as dirt and struggling to adapt, so out of her element that she resorts to stealing money from her new boss until Link catches her and helps her stay true to herself in the future. Maggie’s father starts out so desperate for Link to save his daughter that he will annoyingly stop you in your tracks every time he so much as glimpses you and repeat his pleas for help, but after Maggie is returned home and he strikes it rich through no deed of his own, he decides everyone else is beneath him and starts bitching at Link, the Rito postman, and anyone who thinks repeatedly boasting about your own fabulous wealth makes for poor dinner conversation. Even Ganondorf himself is given more than a simple desire to take over Hyrule this time around, as his belief that the rest of the kingdom deserves to suffer the way the Gerudo suffered in the desert is brought to light. 

Boo!

Part of the reason I liked the dungeons in Ocarina of Time so much is that they had a way of coming full circle at the end, or even a smaller full circle in the middle. You’d come across something at the beginning, go “Huh, that looks cool,” then move on. An hour later, BOOM, payoff, and likely in a way you didn’t even expect. The web serving as the floor in the Deku Tree and the blue stone head at the back of Dodongo’s Cavern come to mind. Plus, there were often open rooms that allowed you to get a handle on where everything else was relative to you, and gaze upon areas you’ll visit once you find the Hookshot or Hover Boots. Wind Waker’s dungeons are the antithesis of the rest of the game, they’re cramped and, for the first half of the game, overly linear. Dragon Roost never musters up much more challenge than “kill enemy in front of you, go through door in front of you, repeat,” a far cry from the wall-climbing around the first half of the Deku Tree. Re-hydrating the bombs to get into the place is arguably as clever as you get with it, which for me is the perfect representation of the amount of thought that went into everything surrounding the dungeons vs. the amount of thought that went into the dungeons. And aside from those spinning leaf wheels in Forbidden Woods that wouldn’t know what a wind was if they were fired for incompetence and forced to spend the rest of their lives at its mercy, this is best illustrated during the teamwork-based dungeons with Medli and Makar toward the end of the game .

Considering how often you have to switch between characters to set up a Mirror Shield reflect or to hit a switch or to plant a seed or because you got hit fucking once, it would’ve been nice not to have to do half the Macarena every time you want to switch to your companion’s viewpoint. It also would’ve been nice if the controls of your partners didn’t make me want to offer them to the Floormasters. That said, Medli wasn’t awful. Yes, her flight was a bit hard to direct, there was no way to halt her Link-bearing glide without throwing her, and the number of times you had to hop on the Wind Waker was a pain, but the irritation was diminished when lot of her roles involved standing still and shining light while you played as the character the game actually put work into handling. Plus, my wave of enthusiasm from the first moment I walked under a spotlight while carrying her and saw the light reflect lasted me quite a ways into the dungeon, so my memories of the Earth Temple are okay enough.

On the other hand, Makar. (I still call him Oaki, which should indicate how memorable Makar’s character is) When flying with Medli, all that was required was good aim when leaping off any ledge you were leaving, whether she was on her own or supporting Link. Makar has to fly in patterns more complex than straight lines, so naturally his controls are twice as stupid. You have to repeatedly press A to fly, speeding up or slowing down your button presses to increase or decrease the amount of lift as you go. Button mashing as a recurring mechanic, yay. Its imprecise nature becomes worse when the vertical nature of the dungeon’s biggest room has Makar rack up a ton of momentum from the amount of rising and falling he’ll be doing, leaving you struggling to adjust your frequency to keep up, with aerial endurance that makes you wonder how the Korok seed-spreading ritual has not led them to extinction by mass drowning. Fortunately, there’s a giant fan you can activate at the bottom of the room to blow yourself upward and kill any chance you have at forward progress. You’d think that being able to coast to the top of everything would be a good thing, but being in the fan’s range of “anywhere” causes Makar to eschew any direction that isn’t straight up (as his flight meter drains!), when running out of flight power has the same effect but downwards. If that wind catches you while you’re trying to cross the room, you’re left to watch as Makar is frozen in place while his energy drains to zero, wait for the fan to stop, fall several stories to the bottom of the room, and walk about two feet toward where you want to go before the fan activates again and restarts the cycle. And that’s assuming one of the many flying enemies doesn’t brush Makar and throw the camera back behind a Link who’s attempting to keep calm by doing the wave.

The combat took some getting used to. Ocarina’s combat was fine; it was easy to tell what you were in range to hit, and timing your swings properly could get shield-wielding enemies like Stalfos in a loop where continually accurate shots would finish them in seconds. In Wind Waker, Link’s attacks don’t reach quite as far as his sword would indicate; you’d think the gods would make sure their magical evil-smiting blade is most capable at the end that goes in the King of Evil, but I guess not. “Just The Tip” is a no-no with these monsters, so it’s either impale them in full or let them dominate you.

Meanwhile, you have two options for your targeting system, and they both suck. You either hold down L as long as you want to keep an enemy targeted, which before long will cause your left index finger to rebel against its draconian master, or press the button once to start targeting and press it again to target a different enemy, leaving you with no way to stop targeting the enemies and put an arrow in the switch. This wasn’t that big a deal in Ocarina, since Link had a wider vertical range with the bow and there were never many enemies hounding you  when there was another immediate objective to complete, but in Wind Waker, you can expect a rainbow of respawning Chu’s to ambush you around the clock. It sours a lot of dungeons and dungeon-themed areas for me. That’s why the Wind Waker experience was so surprising; the dungeons were a slog to get through and felt less like a collection of clever puzzle ideas suiting each region’s theme and more like an obligation to throw in because it’s Zelda, yet everything surrounding them felt engaging and intriguing enough to make me want to keep playing and find out what happened to everyone.

(Tower of the Gods was pretty cool, too.)

[tundrainafrica]

Somewhere Between Life and Death (Chapter 4)

Summary: Dia de los Muertos isn’t the only day the dead can visit the living. Miguel is reunited with Hector, Imelda and his other relatives from the other side but in one of the worst ways possible and he finds himself caught in a struggle between life and death.

Note: Reposted from ao3 and fanfic, same name, same author

I just needed to post some coco content I made on my own on Tumblr because  I will definitely not be able to contribute in the arts side.

Post canon, sickfic, expect hurt comfort, loads of angst, kidnappings. Miguel has a very long and very fatal near death experience basically.

You can follow this fic on tumblr under the tag TundrainAfrica

Link to: Chapter 1- Chapter 2- Chapter 3

Chapter 4: Admissions

     “Four hours?!”  

     Miguel opened his eyes, as the shoulder he was leaning on suddenly jolted and his ears rang with the sound of his mother's voice.

        “Shhh… Lower your voice."

       “No. Miguel should have been inside long before the child with the nosebleed or the kid with the broken arm. What did the nurse say? Why did they let them go first?”    

        “It's ER rules we can't complain.”  

        “But we still have a right to know why they're not calling him yet… Excuse me!”

         “Luisa! What are you---”

         Miguel heard heels clacking on the floor and it was getting louder and faster. He quickly closed his eyes again hoping nobody noticed that he was awake for a moment. If his mother was going to start a fight with a nurse, he didn't want to be part of it.

           “Hello, may I help you?”

          “Why hasn't anyone called my son yet. We’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

           “What's your son's name? We’ll ask a the front---”

            “No need, my husband already asked. They said four hours but it shouldn't take this long.”

            “Sorry it's been very busy. That means there  are people much sicker…”

             “My son is sick too.”

             “I’m sorry, I wasn’t the one who assessed your son. Let me just call the nurse who assessed him she might be able to help. What's your son's name?”

              “Miguel Rivera”  

               There was a clacking of heels that slowly faded into the other noises of the emergency room.

                “Luisa what are you thinking?”

                 “It is our right to know why they’re making us wait this long.”

                 “They will call us eventually."

                “Four hours is a lot of time Enrique. A lot of time for Miguel to get sicker.”

               At the word sicker, Miguel felt a heave creeping up his throat as if it was reacting to the word. He held his breath forcing the heave back down. This was no time to worry his mother anymore. Soon another clacking of heels was audible and like the ones of a while ago, it was getting louder as its owner came nearer.

              “Hello,  Miguel Rivera right? I talked to the nurse  in charge. No fever. No apparent symptoms. Blood pressure is within normal range. She classified him as non- urgent.”

              “Non urgent?!”

                Miguel felt his mother's chest rise. He slowly pulled away, feigning sleepiness. As far as they know, he was just shifting sleeping position from his mother to his father. He was in no way waking up and capable of participating in whatever scuffle his mother starts.

               His father put his arms around him. He kept his eyes half open and watched his mother make her way to the nurses desk in the front as the nurse who had informed of the long wait, watched helplessly from behind her.

             “Hayy, Luisa…” His father muttered.

             Miguel watched the scene in front of him with half opened eyes, letting himself relax as his father caressed his shoulder with one hand. He cringed internally as he watched his mother slam her hands on the table and waved her hands at the nurse. Her back was to him so he couldn't even guess what she was saying.

         He thought if he tried he could possibly make out part of what she was saying. He heard her voice but it was hard to make out the words when many people were talking at the same time and the words were easily swallowed by the other voices and the horrible acoustics of the ER.

         After his mother gesticulated what looked like intimidations and threats for less than a minute, the nurse eventually sighed in defeat and pressed a button on the desk and talked into some sort of intercom. A nurse guided them through the big doors only to another room which looked to Miguel like an extension of the waiting room outside except much quieter.

        His mother had helped him walk the stretch of the  rooms. He wasn't surprised though when he started to feel a tightness in his chest as they walked. He was exhausted after all.

       The nurse led them to a stretcher on the hallway before saying something to his mother in soft whispers. Soon after she left, Luisa helped Miguel on the stretcher.

        “It's not much, but at least you're more comfortable.”  His mother said as she sat in front of him, brushing his bangs from his eyes.

         Miguel had lain back on the stretcher at first but as he noticed that gravity was only adding to the heaviness on his chest, he opted to turn to the side facing his mother. He made eye contact with her even with his heavy lidded eyes. It was at that moment of eye contact that he wheezed and the fact that his breathing had been heavy and slowly getting faster since a while ago became apparent. And his mother noticed.

        This time she didn't bother asking her son how he felt. She ran to the nurses desk. Miguel followed her with his eyes. The nurse had her head down and Miguel couldn't tell if she was talking to his mother or ignoring her altogether.

        “How are you feeling?”

          Miguel could see his father's face from his peripherals. He shook his head without taking his eyes of his mother. He didn't want to worry them anymore but he didn't want to lie either. Instead he picked  the safest option and kept quiet. Besides, he didn't know if he could actually say anything else without it coming out like a wheeze.

          He closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep so he could forget the ominous tightening of his chest. It was scary. It had started off as a dull ache but it had grown to be its own monster. He closed his eyes tighter, willing himself to fall asleep. He held one hand to his chest and grabbed tightly at the skin on top, as if it was possible to rip off his skin and give himself space to breath.  The dull pain in his stomach was also starting to make itself known  once again

        He tried to imagine other things.

       He wasn't sick in the ER. He was back in the Dia de los Muertos only a month ago. He was playing music for his abuelita, his cousins, his parents and his baby sister Coco. He couldn't help but feel he had taken for granted when he ever felt that good.

         He imagined the feeling of his fingers on the guitar. His right hand would caress the nylon strings before he starts playing. His left hand was always a little more uncomfortable having to press the fret the whole song. It was painful when he first tried it out but the years of playing made the tip of his left fingers harder and these days, he wouldn't notice the pain at all.

         Does it work with this type of pain too? He thought to himself. It was a stupid question and  he didn't bother answering it.

         He moved on to his favorite part of playing the guitar. The touch was magical on its own, just imagining it was a good distraction from the tightness building up in his chest, and for a while, he felt like it alleviated the pain. Like for all musicians though, touching the instrument was only the rising action to the climax of actually creating the music. The happiness that made itself known through silent shivers and a gradual quickening of one's heartbeat the music was not from touching the instrument itself but from the excitement of knowing that in a few seconds, they will be creating something beautiful.

          Just listening to music alone is something else. It had the power to manipulate feelings and memories, it soothed, it healed, it amplified, it alleviated, it aggravated. It could do almost anything to someone with the write melody, lyrics and harmony.

          What Miguel soon learned after he started learning to play his own music was that touch also amplified his wonder. Similar to adding a left hand to music, it added an extension to his senses, something else for them to indulge on and he couldn't help but marvel at his own capability to play the melodies, coordinate them, create harmonies and finally, create music.

           Because of his simple and strictly musicless upbringing, he couldn't pick up the theory of it. Words like tonic, supertonic, submediant and subdominant, although vital to music theory flew over his head. To be a musician though, science and theory were only secondary.

          Although Miguel did not know the names of the notes, he made up for it with his spot-on ears. He knew by heart the sound that each string made when pressed on a certain fret, knowledge he picked up through endless nights experimenting with his guitar. His ability to point out the notes after playing came up after listening to Ernesto de la Cruz songs and trying to hit the right note on the guitar again and again and again until he was able to mimic the melody and harmony on his guitar down to a T. Good ears make a good and very useful skill when songwriting and at his age. After many years doing the same thing and maybe through some inborn talent, he had developed ears good enough to create his song and plan the guitar accompaniment within minutes without even touching the guitar.

       That was what Miguel decided to do the next few minutes to distract himself.

        At first, it was difficult to imagine the soft  cloth of the bed cover of stretcher was in any way similar to the hard wood and nylon strings that dug into his skin. When he was closing his eyes and starting to doze off, it started to become easier. It was no feat at all for his mind to imagine something it had been doing everyday for years.

          Say that I'm crazy or call me a fool.

         The tabs that he had created long ago played along in his mind as he started to sing.

           But last night it seemed that I dreamed about you.

        When I opened my mouth, what came out was a song.  

          And you knew every word and we all sang along.      

         He knew the melody created by his tabs  by heart and he found himself adding along to it as his fingers played an extra melody in time with the instrumental in his head. He had created one for his cousins Abel and Rosa almost a year ago when the music ban was uplifted and they hesitantly mentioned that they wanted to learn to play music and started learning to play the accordion and violin.

           The twins had been starting to show interest in music only recently. Their mother had been talking about investing in a piano. If they learned soon, they could definitely join in their Dia de los Muertos performance. As he thought about it, he found himself pressing the frets on his imaginary guitar, creating a new melody to teach his cousins when they learn to play the piano.        

          To a melody--- He felt a pain on his chest and ended up hacking and wheezing. It was only then did he realize that he had started singing aloud.

   His chest had been filling with something and it was climbing up his chest and his throat. He had mistaken it for excitement and joy at first. His cough had brought him back to reality. It felt like he was drowning. How could he be drowning when his throat was so dry? He did not have much time to ponder that because, what had been filling his chest was trying to make its presence more known. It was pushing itself up his chest and throat.

         “Hey. Hey. You okay?”

           He felt his father's hand lightly tapping on his cheek.

          His own eyes were wet. He had been crying.

“It hurts. Make it stop.” He finally said. Or at least that's what he tried to say. What came out was a wheeze or a gurgle.    

               Luisa!

               He opened his mouth and tried to inhale some oxygen and get air into his system but as if he really was underwater, his mouth had filled with liquid instead. If he were a little more aware of his surroundings, he would have tasted the blood but as he tried to sit up, his only thought was to spit it out.

               Miguel! Spit it out here. We need some help!      

             After vomiting, he lay back limp on the stretcher.   He didn't bother opening his eyes anymore. He was exhausted. He wasn't asleep yet, he knew he was still in the emergency room. He continued to hear the hushed voices and feel the stretcher under him but it was as if his brain was having difficulty associating creating contrasts between what he felt and heard. Was it his mother? Was it his father? Or was it the nurse talking?

              He heard distant and urgent voices, footsteps coming closer. He heard someone, screaming and crying.

               He felt someone putting something on his face, he felt the cold air around his mouth, he inhaled the air almost hesitantly. He could have said that the air he was trying to inhale was more welcoming than that of a while ago and the tightness in his chest dissipated only lightly. At that point, it felt like an indulgence to him. Someone took his hand and and slip it inside a board. Soon after, he felt a prick on his left hand. He would have wanted to pull away but it felt as if his body didn't have the energy for that anymore. Staying limp felt like the most comfortable decision at that point.

               Start him on a simple solution, we need to first treat the dehydration. What's his blood type?

           More urgent footsteps. He felt another poke on his other hand.

             Have them send the blood results as soon as possible. We might have to run some other tests.

           We administered some sedatives through an IV . It’s best that he's asleep during the tests…

     We will need you to sign here to authorize the tests…

         Some procedures may be invasive but we will make sure to take good care of your son.

             The last thing Miguel had pondered before finally falling asleep and losing all awareness of his surroundings was who they had been talking about when they said 'your son.’

             Somewhere Between Life and Death

Dengue fever

That's what the doctor  in the clinic said yesterday. He didn't have to undergo that many tests did he?

His complete blood count points to dengue but the disease had progressed far too quickly than most patients. We had to make sure it couldn't be any other virus. If we give him the wrong treatment in this condition, we could kill him.  

         The first thing Miguel took note of was that the tightness in his chest was gone, his head didn't hurt. He didn't need to vomit. He was breathing. His mouth was wet.  It didn't feel like he was cured though. It felt like a trade off. The pains of a while ago were replaced once again with a new set of discomforts.

         His body felt sore. It wasn't like the searing pain his joints and bones of yesterday. He just felt bruised and tired.  The sensation was the dull type reminiscent of unhealed wounds that only made themselves known when pushed and prodded but on any regular day were quiet and behaved. In some way though, it was different but Miguel could not put a ring on why he felt the way he did.    

          He tried swallowing some of the moisture from his mouth only to choke on it half way through. He couldn't stifle the cough that followed.

           He's awake.

          Miguel opened his eyes at the sound of his mother's voice coming from just a few inches away.

         Before opening his eyes, his soreness felt was spread out, a conglomeration of discomforts that he could not comprehend. As he took in his surroundings and the numerous wires that seemed to be connected  to many parts of his body,  the discomfort he was feeling started to take a more distinct shape.

          The first thing he noticed was the mask on his face.  As he tried to put up his hand to feel it, he felt something pulling on his hand then someone's gentle hand pushing his hand back down.

          “Mijo, you scared us back there.”

           Miguel looked to the other side to see his father and a man in a lab coat. His father was sitting on a chair by the bed while the other man  stood along the foot of the bed.

          “It’s an oxygen mask.“ He explained as he pointed at his own mouth.”You were having a hard time breathing.”

           Miguel looked expectantly at his mother and father. Am I getting better? He wanted to ask. He was getting impatient. He wanted to go home, sleep on his own bed, spend Christmas vacation in the plaza or playing with his cousins. He wanted to play his guitar again. Heck, he was even excited to go back to the workshop and make shoes.

          The doctor cleared his throat.  “We gave you something to help you sleep back in the ER and you slept through all the tests. We were able to confirm the dengue virus. It’s a little more aggressive than the normal one.”

         “What's the cure?”  His father asked.

         “Like all viruses, there's no cure. All we can do is keep him alive until the virus passes. Watch out for complications…”

          Miguel had wanted to ask  questions, he wanted to listen and comprehend what the doctors were explaining to his parents. It felt like such a feat though to say anything loud enough that it won't get drowned out by the whirring and beeping of the machines next to him.

Also, when the doctor started mentioning words like sedation and endotracheal intubation, he found himself dozing off. It was  too much of an effort  to make sense of the medical jargon the doctor was spouting out every few words.

           Distracting himself with the tubes and wires surrounding his body was much less an effort. He understood the big one that started at the mask on his face connected to a machine on the side. He followed the tubes that were connected to his hand. One was connected to a colorless solution, the other to a bag which looked like it contained blood. He quickly looked away in disgust  and closed his eyes. He didn't know how long he was going to be there and how many more tubes or wires he had connected to his  body but he knew it would be gone much faster if he was asleep the whole time.

          He relaxed on the bed and let the steady  beeping of the machines put him to sleep. It was much easier to sleep on the bed than in the ER and in his condition, it felt like his body was actually begging for the rest.

        He didn't know how much time had past but every now and then, he would wake up to a nurse taking some more of his blood through what looked like another tube  or changing the bags that fed into his hands.  Most times he woke up, it was his mother by his bedside, brushing his bangs off of his forehead, telling him to go back to sleep so he could recover faster.  

           He wasn't keeping track of the time though and  it may have been a few hours or a few days later when he woke up to his parents arguing in soft whispers in the corner of the room.

      Enrique, I don't think those are allowed in the ICU.        

       This is a single room anyway. As long as we play softly, we shouldn't be a bother to the other patients.

        What about Miguel? He might not be able to sleep properly if we make too much noise.

         Luisa, do you remember when Miguel played a song for Mama Coco?

         Oh? When she recovered enough to tell us about her father?  

          Yes, I found the song. It’s a stupid idea but… what if music can actually help Miguel recover faster?

          Most times Miguel was lucid enough to hear the conversations between his parents and the doctor or between themselves, he would let it pass and go back to sleep. What had caught his attention with that conversation was that his father had possibly brought his guitar to the hospital.

        He opened his eyes a bit to see its familiar white shape in his peripherals. His father was at his bedside fiddling with it. His mother was nowhere to be seen, probably in the toilet or something. No one had noticed that he had opened his eyes for a while and he quickly closed it to keep the peace. His chest was starting to hurt and he didn't think he was up to responding to the fussing of his parents. Besides, he wanted to listen to his father play the guitar.

        After a few minutes of just lying there half asleep, he heard his father take a deep breath.

        Remember me. Though I have to say goodbye.

        His father was strumming at all the right syllables but Miguel couldn't help but notice that the chords were all wrong. At some parts, his father was pressing too many frets that the chord came out completely different from intended or he wasn't pressing them hard enough to hear the actual change in the pitch of the strings. In some parts, he would hear the vibration of the strings but not the melody. In some parts, his father was actually playing the wrong notes.

       If his chest wasn't starting to hurt and he wasn't falling deep into his exhaustion, he may have given his father pointers or pointed out the errors in his playing.  

        Instead, he had allowed himself to give in to the most recent dose of sedatives, attributing the chest pain to just another feature of the dull pain and discomforts of the whole hospital ordeal.

      A fatal mistake.

      The next thing he remembered was erratic beating and urgent voices. He couldn't make sense of what was happening but he had recognized his mothers cries. He saw some nurses at the sides of his bed that short moment he was lucid.

      They pulled out wires and tubes. He remembered being carried by one of them then the feeling of the bed moving under him, the creaking of the stretcher as it moved, footsteps following the stretcher and his parents urgent voices.

     As his eyes started to narrow  from the bright white lights, his ears strained to hear the urgent questions of his parents. The words were mostly inaudible but as a nurse started to fuss with the IV line and he started to lose consciousness, he was able to make out a few of what the doctors saying.

       Mr. Rivera, Your son's body is a mess. His heart is working overtime…

       You may not like this but it may be the only way to keep him alive…  

       Is there any other option? It sounded like his mother's voice. She sounded like she was close to sobbing.

      We understand that this is a difficult decision to make...

      Do what you need to do.

Hope you enjoyed! Like always, do tell me what you think :D 

[allenmendezsr]

How To Play Golf | Complete Golf Lessons For Beginners

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How To Play Golf | Complete Golf Lessons For Beginners

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    If you’ve been looking for a solution to meeting friends, clients and business partners on the golf course, this course will get your started with becoming the best golf player that you can be. Learn the Best Tips & Techniques for How to Play Golf. Amazing Golf Course for Beginner to Intermediate.

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The Complete Golf Lessons For Beginners

How To Play Golf | Complete Golf Lessons For Beginners

Date:

From the desk of Ryan Jones (GolferDays Gold Member):

If you’re anything like I was, then your friends and colleagues leaving you behind on the golf course is frustating, but also causing concern that you are missing out on important business associations and deals too…

…plus the damage caused from the loss of clients just because you can’t golf!

Then there the missed opportunity for making new friends and gaining new customers.

I used to be upset about not getting the business deals required until I met Golf Instructor Kevin and signed up for his fantastic golf lessons for beginners course. In a matter of days, I was ready to hit the golf course bringing my top notch game.

I was making friends on the golf course with proper etiquette, an impressive swing, and always staying competitive in the game even when with playing against very experienced golfers. Most importantly, my business meetings took off on the golf course and I started making deals with my business associates that just couldn’t be done anywhere else!

…Before taking these great golf lessons for beginners, it was pretty embarrassing too, when your business clients want to go golfing, and you have to find an excuse that you don’t know how – isn’t it?

After speaking to friends also visiting a few forums online, it was clear to see that business people not knowing how to golf is pretty common.

Some of the stories I read made me feel lucky, such as one guy whose wife left him because he couldn’t close a real estate deal with a golfer.

Apparently, this was all about the lack of knowledge and and just spending some time learning the basics of golf with a quality golf course…which is what a lot of more modern golfing programs now try to teach, although quality that you find in Golf Instructor Kevin’s program is rare.

Anyway being desperate for a solution, I did my research and looked for a way to calmly learn the basics in a fun and entertaining way. I wasn’t sure what to expect from golf lessons and also wondering will golf lessons improve my game ?

The problem, as I soon found out, was that golf trainers cost a fortune. I’m a busy guy, so finding time to schedule the training sessions (even on weekends) was not always possible.

I also read a lot about types of training equipment that I could use at home, such as golf clubs and putters. Let me tell you, my wife yelled at me for trying to learn golf at home…I can’t imagine how painful it can be for novice golfers trying to learn the game fast.

During my research, I kept coming across an online course called “How To Play Golf | Complete Golf Lessons For Beginners” instructed by Golf Instructor Kevin.

It looked promising to me, as it had all the things I was looking for, such as:

• Well established, • Entertaining, • Educational, • Taught by expert instructor, • Immediate access, • Focuses on golfing relationships (alpha pack) that other courses/ instructors overlook

Therefore, I decided to go ahead and try it out. Some weeks later, and here’s my own review of what this course is all about, as I am sure other people are in that frustrating situation of trying to get started golfing…

I’m going to go over my opinion of whether the course actually works, who I think it’s right for, and of course, whether it’s worth the money.

What To Expect From Golf Lessons For Beginners?

“How To Play Golf | Complete Golf Lessons For Beginners” – is a treasure chest full of secrets to transforming your golf game in a fun and easy way that anyone can do. With “Complete Golf Lessons For Beginners” you’re going to save time, money, and aggravation with learning how to play golf.

You’ll learn to avoid the mistakes and disastrous situations that you’ve been vulnerable to. With “Complete Golf Lessons For Beginners” you will be able to get the most out of your training time and build those important business relationships on the golf course!

The real secret behind Complete Golf Lessons For Beginners is that they employ the increasingly popular method of setting up your swing with the correct positioning, (along with eliminating numerous bad behaviours at the same time).

Essentially, it’s golf training in the fast lane…let’s see if it actually works though, shall we?

First Impressions

As soon as I got my hands on the Complete Golf Lessons For Beginners Course, I immediately realised that there is a lot of information and advice that they’ve crammed in here. It also appears very well laid out and professional looking too.

On first arrival, I was excited to click the play button and then just couldn’t turn it off. I began to notice that they progress through the stages of golf training for beginners in a pretty logical manner (from buying the right golf clubs, through to setting up your swing, making winning putts, through to the hands on training sections).

This is great for me, as I like to follow a path of progress, rather than pick and scrape information all the time.

However, I would say that the course is perhaps a little overwhelming at first (I kept thinking – am I going to have time to do all this, and will I understand it all?)

Then it occurred to me, I can watch this again and again, and go straight from beginner to intermediate. The more times I view this course, the better my golf game seems to get.

What’s This Course All About?

This beginners golf course will get you started playing golf impressively, right from your first tee off. Learn all about the important rules of golf, and how best to approach the golf course when beginning. This isn’t just a fun and enjoyable sport: in business, golf is a fantastic method to meet and speak with customers and collaborators. You may be missing out on a great number of associations, if you don’t feel sufficiently good to go out on the golf course. These Complete Golf Lessons For Beginners will help you solve this problem. You’ll learn all that you need to know to start enjoying the game. The journey that you begin here with these golf lessons for beginners can be enjoyed for a lifetime. This is because golf is favorite of everyone from students to business people, amateurs to professional golfer, and also a favorite recreational activity during retirement.

What Will I Learn?

In this course, you’ll learn everything you need to know about how to play golf including how to swing a golf club, hitting the golf ball, how to putt effectively, what type of golf equipment you need, plus much more. This course is just packed with fun and exciting content on golf. Almost 2 hours of step-by-step lessons on everything you need to get started on the golf course. Golf Instructor Kevin also analyzes how conditions of the golf course can affect your game. And he describes some benefits of becoming a member of your local golf country club. Overall, these are golf lessons for beginners that you just don’t want to miss out on. Travel around the golf courses with your friendly instructor in these awesome golf lessons for beginners, and you’ll soon learn all the best tips and techniques for how to play golf. The instruction provided during the golf lessons are presented in a fun and easy way that makes learning enjoyable for all students. This is the complete golf course for beginner to Intermediate. Get started today becoming the best golf player that you can be.

Yeah, But Does It Work?

As I started viewing the onine video guide, I found that the first few sections are pretty straight forward stuff that seems more aimed at new golfers, but a few useful tips to do with choosing the right golf clubs for your needs/lifestyle.

Secondly, there is plenty of extensive start up advice for choosing the right clubs and what to look for when choosing golf sets (some info is pretty useful, and there’s also a lot of great tips that I didn’t know (they also cover all the different types of golf club types so you know what to look for specifically)

Also, as I got deeper into the later parts of the online course, I noticed that there were some great tips on preparing to bring your game to the next level for a new golfer, but again, mostly useful if you’re at that stage of moving up from intermediate to almost expert.

What I loved about this online course and what clearly took effect immediately after applying, were the sections on “Adding Finesse To Your Game”. This section seemed to be the most powerful in creating a bond, trust and respect between you and your golf friends, clients and business partners on the golf course.

The training material is generally spot on, although a little brief in parts, but they do a great job overall of explaining the psychology behind golf, as well as giving step by step exercises to use to take control of the problems (from setting up your swing to hitting the golf ball effectively, it’s all here).

Finally, it’s easy to see that the training and care of your golf game can be accomplished with this course, providing you put in the time and effort…

Why do I think this? Well, because the techniques and approaches covered in the online video guide are modern, effective and just seem to make sense when you try them on the golf course.

What Are The Details?

Who Is It Right For?

After using this online video course for a while now, I can confidently say that this is ideal for beginners to intermediate golfers, or people looking to get started with golfing.

Also, anyone with serious golfing issues that need urgent attention would find this online video course extremely helpful in resolving the immediate problems and building stronger relationships on the golf course with proper etiquette and finesse. This will undoubtedly help you in business and in life.

I would also say this is even better suited for people looking for an all in one online guide to getting started with golfing, as the course seems to cover all these aspects in more than enough detail.

However with all this being said, you will still need to be committed to learning and be able to put some time aside to apply what you’ll learn (and a little patience too, as some of the techniques take up to 3 weeks to complete!) Now you know what to expect from Golf Lessons For Beginners. By the end of this course, you’ll know how to golf and impress your business partners on the golf course too! Make it a great Golf Day!

[bridgetteirish]

@xxtorchxx made this gorgeous manip and it lit a fire of inspiration in me.  She was kind and generous enough to allow me to lend my words to her perfect image.  Just bask in this brilliance for awhile.   As should go without saying, do not repost, re-use or claim this work as your own.  If you like it, use that little reblog button in the bottom right corner of the post.

A million thank-yous @xxtorchxx for your talent and creativity and for your thoughts on this little fic to complement it.  

Thanks to @reginalovesemma for the edits.  As always, you elevate my work.

A note about this little fic.  Mon-El was never Kara’s boyfriend.  In this little world, he was the funny, goofy, sidekick pal we all deserved him to be.  Kara misses him and does have to deal with the loss of a friend, but he did not have the dominating presence in her life he was given in canon.

Please enjoy!

She was glad it hadn’t been anything tragic.  When she’d sped off the CatCo balcony with Cat’s whispered “Go get ‘em, Supergirl” still ringing in her ears, she said a brief prayer to Rao that her city would not see any more pain this day.

She wasn’t supposed to hear it, but they both knew she had.  Kara’s superhearing was well-attuned to Cat.  It was long-past time for them both to acknowledge what had never really been a secret between them.

She could see the flames and smoke rising into the air almost as soon as she left the balcony.  Evidence of the events of the last few days was everywhere as she flew over National Boulevard and she stretched her arms and sped up. When she arrived at the scene, Kara and the NCPD worked in tandem, putting out pockets of flames and pulling terrified citizens from the buildings.  They worked low, Kara worked high.  Her last save was a little girl, clutching a stuffed bear and crying.  Kara wrapped her cape around the shaking girl and flew her to the ground before laying her on a gurney.  The girl, Mandy, she’d said her name was, gripped her hand and asked her to ride with her in the ambulance.

“I have to stay here and make sure everyone else is safe, sweetie.  But you’re being very brave and strong and I promise, when the doctors and your mom and dad say it’s okay, I’ll come visit you, alright?” 

“Okay, Supergirl.  I’ll be brave and strong like you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes.  “Braver and stronger, Mandy.  I believe in you.”

The little girl smiled as the medic fitted an oxygen mask over her mouth.  They loaded the gurney into the ambulance and Kara turned back to the scene.  Everyone else was mostly fine;  a few people coughing or limping, some bumps and bruises and mild burns.  Mandy’s father had a concussion from being hit by a falling beam, but the medics assured Kara he would be fine.  Kara ensured the ambulances were en route before giving the firefighters and EMTs a nod and flying away.

She flew back to CatCo to gather her laptop and purse, hoping, though not expecting, to see Cat again.  She didn’t want to examine that hope too deeply.  Cat’s presence had always been comforting, but having her back after so long away felt like a salve on an ancient burn.   

By this time of day, when the sun was sinking towards the horizon and the National City sky was painted with the purples and yellows of twilight, most people would be home, cooking dinner or catching up on television or watching the sunset over the ocean or any number of wonderfully domestic things  So many nights Kara flew across her city, wishing she could be a part of it; wishing she could do all of those normal, small things that added up to a life, added up to a human life.  Like Miss Grant had said.  “It isn’t what you do.  It’s who you love.”

Kara had intended on heading straight home.  Her heart felt a bit heavy with wondering where Mon-El’s little pod was now.  He’d been goofy and impossible and irritating most of the time… but he had been her friend, and she would miss him.  As she flew past the familiar, arty Gateway district on her way to her own beloved little neighborhood, she noticed the lights on in the penthouse that had been dark for almost a year, and the diminutive, shadowed figure, head bowed, moonlight shining off unmistakable blonde locks.

She changed course and landed as silently as possible on the balcony several feet from Cat.  “Long day?”  She wanted to sound cavalier and brave and heroic.  What came out instead was tentative, more Kara than Supergirl.  But then, that was okay, wasn’t it, now that the secret, whispered as she had walked away, was no longer being kept between them.

“Just… thinking…” Cat was usually not contemplative.  She was decisive, bold, a whirlwind of action and fearlessness, but as she looked up from where her hands were folded over the balustrade, Kara caught tears shining in her eyes and a worry behind her smirk that created a small crease in her forehead where none usually appeared.

Kara smiled and walked to stand next to her.  “Thinking, huh.  A year in a yurt and you become a cloud-watcher?”  She was teasing, hoping Cat would tease back in that irresistible, infuriating way that reminded Kara she’d never be able to keep up, nor would she want to.

But she didn’t tease back.  The frown deepened and Cat backed away from the balcony’s edge and made for the door.  “I’ve come to appreciate a good sunset.  Good night, Supergirl.”

“Cat, wait.”  Kara was relieved when her voice was enough to stop Cat and get her to turn.  She didn’t return to her spot but rather leaned her back against the glass wall and crossed her arms, waiting, so Kara continued.  “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Kara, Kara, Kara.” Kara tried not to shiver at the sound of her name coming from Cat’s lips again and again.  “You do not need to worry that pretty little, perfectly coiffed head about me.”  She tilted her head to the side sizing Kara up.  Cat waited a few beats for Kara to fumble out her usual insistence that Cat had her all wrong, but Kara remained silent.  Cat pressed.  “No denials?  No tricks?  No throwing me off the track?”

Kara shook her head.  “I heard you earlier,” she confessed.  “Calling me Supergirl when I left.”  She kicked at a tiny stone laying on the balcony floor.  She wondered curiously how it got there and she avoided Cat’s eyes by crushing it under her boot until it was a tiny pile of dust.  “I wanted you to know, Cat.  So many times.  But you left before I found the courage and…” She blew a large breath through her lips.  “Every time this past year when I wondered where you were, if you were happy, if you would ever come back, I wished I had told you, that night we said goodbye.”  She looked around the balcony and stepped forward so she was under the eave where Cat stood.  “I stood on a balcony so much like this one and you asked, in your own way, and…” she shrugged.  “I chickened out.”

She waved her hand noncommittally.  “Well, I know now.”  She picked at the edge of a fingernail.  “Water under the bridge.”  She was avoiding eye contact and Kara began attempting to meet her gaze, unsuccessfully.  She took another step forward and her proximity startled Cat enough for her to lift her head and look at Kara.  Kara registered the pain in her eyes and a tiny lump formed in her throat.  As quickly as the hurt passed Cat’s eyes, the mask was back and Cat shut down again.  “Go on, Supergirl.  Surely there’s an entire city waiting to congratulate their savior once again.  I know you had to say goodbye to one friend today, but your others are probably wondering where you are right about now.  And I have had an exhausting couple of days.  If you’ll excuse me.”  She made to leave again.

“Stop it!”  Kara immediately regretted her tone and Cat stopped and turned in surprise.  “Sorry,” she backed off a little.  “Sorry, it’s just that…” she found her ire again and stepped closer.  “Was it all bullshit?”

The confused look on Cat’s face drove her to continue.  “All that talk of love being the answer and how it isn’t about what we do.  That all sounded great, Cat, but you sat in your office today for over fourteen hours, working and yelling at people, just like you did before you left.”  Kara crossed her arms when Cat became visibly uncomfortable.  “Nothing’s really changed, has it?  You talk a big game, but when it comes right down to it…”

“When it comes right down to it, I don’t have anyone.”  Cat leaned back against the window, crossing her arms in a mirror image of Kara’s stance.  “I sat in a yurt, Kara, and found the meaning of life… but I have no means by which to fulfill it.  Having the answer doesn’t erase the loneliness.  I could never regret CatCo or the choices I’ve made, but… I’ve spent years alienating people.  I don’t exactly have a line out the door.”

“Carter?” Kara asked curiously.

“He’s very settled with his father,” she answered smoothly.  “I chose to go away and I can’t just…”

“You have me,” Kara filled in quickly.  “I’m not just your project or your minion anymore.”  She strode forward and took Cat by the shoulders.  “I. Am. Your. Friend.”

Cat let out a mirthless laugh and lifted her eyes to the stars.  “Friend, yes.  My good friend, Kara.”

Kara tilted her head to the side.  “What does that mean?”

Cat deflated.  “Nothing.”  She shook her head.  “Nothing.”  She met Kara’s eyes.  “Go home, Kara.”

“No.”  Kara was scared.  This Cat was new to her.  Where was her unwavering confidence, her surety that she sat on top of the world?  Where was the woman whose unshakeable faith just that afternoon gave her the courage to face her mortal enemy?  She knew Cat would want to flee, but Kara’s hand still rested decisively on her shoulder.  She gave a light squeeze to keep her in place. “No.  I won’t leave you.  Not like this.  I am your friend.  I can dole out advice too… unsolicited as it may be.”  Kara smiled but Cat pressed her lips together and didn’t respond.  Kara pressed on.  “You won’t find love in the same office that was making you so restless, with the same people, day in and day out.  And you won’t find it in a yurt in the mountains.”  

Her hand on Cat’s shoulder moved a bit higher, to cradle Cat’s neck.  Kara’s heart was racing.  Cat’s proximity and the intimacy of what she was being allowed to do right now was causing riots in her brain.  But she had to make Cat understand how special she was, how worthy of love, how capable of love she truly was.  Cat had always been the one to lift her up, to remind her of what she was capable of.  Hadn’t it only been the other day that Cat sat in a dark alley and told her that finding love was everything?  She wasn’t following her own advice.  “If you want love, Cat, you have to go where people can be allowed to love you.”  She searched Cat’s eyes and found just a hint of amusement there.

Cat cleared her throat.  “And if the person I love is in that office?” she asked innocently.

“Well then you can’t just hide away in your…”

Cat shook her head and barked out a mirthless laugh, looking above Kara’s head to the sky beyond.  “Idiot.”

“What?”

“You’re an idiot, Kara Danvers.”  Cat pulled back as though she was going to sweep right out of Kara’s arms and away.  Instead, Kara’s hand moved up further still, almost of it’s own volition.  She watched, fascinated that Cat was allowing this.  There was no explanation in Kara’s mind for how her thumb gave Cat’s cheek a distracted little stroke and her fingertips found their way into the soft hair behind her ear.  It just happened, almost as though Kara wasn’t in control.  Her heart raced and her hand tingled where her fingertips brushed against the base of Cat’s skull.  She was mesmerized by the contrast of the deep blue of her suit against the pale glow of Cat’s skin and she felt herself go a bit weak at the knees when Cat’s heartbeat picked up a bit too.  She was reeling from the closeness of Cat, her scent, her softness.  But it was the sadness she caught shining from her eyes that compelled her to keep her close.

“Don’t go.  I don’t… I don’t understa…”  Cat gave Kara’s hand a tiny nuzzle with her cheek but looked down.  Realization dawned on Kara’s mind like the sun across an open field.  “Wait… me?”

Cat’s hand tucked itself around Kara’s waist and gave a squeeze.  She sighed.  “Look who just caught up.”

“I never thought… I never dreamed… All this time?”

Cat gave her a tight-lipped smile.  “A year in a yurt couldn’t remove you from my heart, so I had thought maybe I should just… try letting you into it.  But with everything that’s happened, Kara, you aren’t --”

Kara pressed a kiss, surprising and warm, to Cat’s lips, cutting her off.  “I am,” she breathed when she pulled away, just a hair’s breadth, words landing against Cat’s lips and making her tingle.  “I am,” she breathed again before capturing Cat’s lips again and again and again.  Their kisses were long and deep and sweet.  Kara’s head spun like sugar when she felt Cat clutch her cape, her hand soft against her back.  When they separated, after long minutes, Kara’s thumb gave Cat’s cheek another light caress.

Cat looked up at her and a radiant smile spread across her face.  “Well, Supergirl.  What do we do now?” She teased, with a tiny squeeze to her waist and a brush of their noses.

“Oh, Cat.”  Kara ducked her head and brushed one more chaste kiss against Cat’s lips.  “Don’t you remember?”  She tucked Cat’s head beneath her chin and wrapped her arms fully around her.  “It’s not what we do… it’s who we love.”

[returntothesingularity]

The “RQ=Batman, PD=Bruce Wayne” Theory

This post contains spoilers up-through and including “Jungle Moon.”

Post “A Single Pale Rose” Update: 

I’m like 70% sure Rebecca Sugar has seen this post, and mentions in at the 17:50 mark in the Heart of the Crystal Gems episode of the official podcast. 

(No other changes have been made to the post below, since the “Stranded” special aired.)

The Theory:

At some point during the colonization of Earth, Pink Diamond became enamored with organic life on Earth. While the other diamonds regarded organic life as nothing more than a resource for creating new gems, she created a zoo in an attempt to preserve the species she knew was doomed to extinction by the colonization process. 

She was fascinated by humans' ability to choose their own destiny outside of a rigid caste system, but the humans kept safe in her zoo were deprived of that freedom. Eventually, keeping a relatively small number of humans alive, with no real freedom and away from their home, which she was helping to destroy, wasn’t good enough for her anymore. She wanted to save the Earth, and give gems the same freedom that humans enjoyed. 

Maybe she proposed this plan to the other diamonds, but they rejected it. Maybe she knew they would never agree to it and didn’t even bother asking. In any case, she decided to rebel against them, end the destruction of the Earth, and free the gems severing under her.

However, Pink Diamond realized that those gems were programmed to follow her orders, and would rebel against the other diamonds without question if she ordered them to. This would completely undermine her goal of granting her subjects free will outside of the caste system. So, Pink Diamond created an alter-ego: Rose Quartz. "Just another Quartz soldier, made right here in the dirt." Pink Diamond wouldn't lead the rebellion, Rose Quartz would.  And her subjects would be able to freely choose which side they wanted to fight for.  

Only one other gem would know about this plan: her pearl.

Pearl:  It's a secret, even to Garnet and Amethyst. Rose had a place that she kept hidden from all but me...

Pearl: I was your mother's sole confidant— for the words she could share with no one else, I was there to listen.

Steven:  Why'd she keep so many secrets?

Pearl: She had to, Steven! It's the mark of a great leader, knowing just what to keep hidden from everyone you're trying to protect.

Garnet: Rose kept many things secret, even from us.

Pearl: But not from me, I was the one she told everything!

For a thousand years, Pink Diamond led a double life, operating as herself out of her moon base and as Rose Quartz out of her secret armory and other rebel bases. Although in a position to try and minimize casualties, she also needed to give the rebellion the best possible chance of success while keeping up appearances with those gems who had remained loyal to Pink Diamond and homeworld. 

She would have been forced to make terrible, impossible decisions as she issued battle orders to soldiers on both sides, often sending gems who loyally served under her to certain doom.

Eventually, as the war became more and more desperate and the huge number of soldiers taking orders from the other three diamonds threatened to overwhelm the rebellion.

Revealing her deception was no longer an option. Too many of Rose Quartz’s soldiers, like Bismuth, were now completely opposed to the authority of “upper crusts” like Pink Diamond. If they learned they had been taking orders from a diamond the whole time, and that their beloved leader had also been commanding the forces they fought for a thousand years, they would never follower her again. She would become an enemy of both Homeworld and the rebellion, and the latter would surely fail without her leadership.

There was only one way out. Pink Diamond would fake her own death and hope that the other diamonds would be sufficiently terrified of Rose Quartz to abandon Earth. However she did it, her plan worked, but she failed to anticipate the the other diamonds would emit the corruption signal before departing. 

The Evidence:

Rose Quartz and Pink Diamond were both pink, had big hair, and their gem in their belly button.

Rose has a cave with a giant penny in it that only her most loyal servant knows about. Just like Batman, who has a secret identity.

Pink Diamond = Bruce Wayne 

Rose Quartz = Batman 

Pearl = Alfred

Moon Base = Wayne Manor

Secret Armory = Batcave

It seems like Pearl was programmed to loyally serve Rose Quartz. In the holographic memory in “Rose’s Scabbard,” Rose called her “My Pearl.” Pearl tells Steven, “Everything I ever did, I did for her. Now she’s gone, but I’m still here.“ Indeed, Pearl’s main character arc in the first three seasons is that she is constantly uncertain of her purpose in life now that Rose is gone, and must learn to function without Rose now. She’s a Pearl, programmed to serve, but the gem she’s programmed to serve is gone now.

But why would a Pearl be programmed to follow a common Quartz Solider? 

In addition to the evidence that Pearl served Rose Quartz, there are also several hits that Pearl served Pink Diamond. (See the numbered list below, and my master-post on the question of Pearl’s ownership.) This apparent contradiction is resolved by the realization that Rose Quartz and Pink Diamond are the same person.

(1) In “Adventures in Light Distortion” Pearl says, “When I still served ....Homeworld." Why that pause there? Why is Pearl hesitant to tell Steven who she used to serve?

(2) Later, in “Gemcation,“ Pearl again seems hesitant to tell Steven something about her past. “Steven, I'm sure you have a lot of questions you'd like answers to, like about the Diamonds, for instance. There are things that are impossible for me to explain. But I want to. I-- [covers her own mouth]. Steven I -- [covers her own mouth again].

(3) In “Back to the Barn,” Peridot says our Pearl “looks like a fancy one.” Fancy enough to be reserved for royalty? 

(4) Pink diamonds appear on Pearl’s flight-suit, hologram-Pearl, and on Sardonyx’s shoes.

(5) Pearl strikes an interesting pose in “We Need to Talk.”

(6) In “It Could've Been Great” Pearl is the gem who knows that there was a Diamond base on the moon.

Steven and Rose are often associated with the imagery of royalty.

Bismuth believes Rose Quartz was made on Earth, but we know from flashbacks to Rose's private conversations with Pearl and Greg that she's from homeworld. Why would she lie to her fellow rebels about where she was made?

Rose Quartz’s power set seems to be completely different than any other quartz soldier we’ve seen in the show. Other than having the strength, durability, and ability to summon a weapon that all gems have, the only special power both Amethyst and Jasper have is the ability to perform simple ‘spin attack.‘ Rose Quartz has never been seen performing a spin attack, but she can float, heal gems and organic life, control plants and even instill them with sentience. In “The Trial,” Eyeball states that Rose Quartz was the only know gem ever to have healing powers, and none of the diamonds or zircons present disagree with her on that point. Why are the abilities of this alleged common quartz solider from earth so unique?

When Eyeball says she witnessed the death of Pink Diamond, she is literally talking to a gem that is tricking her with shape-shifting.

Steven’s baby onsey is left partly unsnapped in a very interesting way for most of “Three Gems and a Baby.”

In “Lion 4: Alternate Ending,” we see two large pink structures outside of Rose’s landfill. Most fans think these are either the fingers of Pink Diamond’s hand-ship, or the legs of her...leg ship, which could form a Voltron-esque robot with the other Diamond’s ships. Either way, this is Pink Diamond’s ship. So what’s it doing where Rose Quartz kept all her old things she doesn’t need anymore? 

Furthermore, the fact that Rose’s landfill doesn’t seem to have been on the map of gem locations Pearl gave to Buddy Buddwick, and that nobody thought to use Pink Diamond’s old ship when Steven was trapped on homeworld, would seem to imply that existence/location of Rose's landfill and Pink Diamond’s ship was a secret Rose kept from the rest of the crystal gems.

In “Steven’s Dream” Steven has visions through the eyes of Blue Diamond after she arrives on Earth. None of the other gems on Earth seem to be effected by Blue Diamond’s relative proximity in the same way. Why does Steven have a special connection to the diamonds that allows him, and no one else, to have “diamond dreams?”

"The Trial” revealed that Pink Diamond was allegedly shattered with Rose Quartz’s sword. A sword its designer, Bismuth, said was incapable of shattering gems.

Rose Quartz is nowhere to be seen in Garnet’s brief flashback to fighting Pink Diamond in “Gemcation.” (Has anyone ever seen Rose Quartz and Pink Diamond in the same room at the same time?!)

Also, Pink Diamond is seen wield dual gem destabilizes. How suspiciously nice of her to use a weapon that just poofs gems instead of shattering them.

In “Jungle Moon,” Stevonnie has a strange dream where they are acting out a memory of Pink Diamond from a time before she was put in charge of colonizing Earth. Why is Stevonnie remembering something that happened to Pink Diamond in the alien moon base at all?

There’s some interesting symbolism going on in the dream sequence in “Jungle Moon” as well. In the dream Pink Diamond, shatters her own reflection. Foreshadowing that she faked her own shattering?

It’s currently open to interpretation how literal any individual element of Stevonnie’s dream is, but it seems like Pink Diamond may have been significantly smaller than Yellow. Maybe about the same size as Rose Quartz? This seems to be confirmed by the height of the spot where she punched the glass, and the size of her chair back on Earth’s moon base, compared to Yellow Diamond's on the alien moon base.

(Yellow Diamond’s chair)

(Pink Diamond’s chair)

Pink Diamond’s lips and nose are identical to Rose Quartz’s.

Oh, and look! It’s Pink Diamond with the shadow of her bangs hiding her eyes. Now where have we seen that before?

[cdrforea]

Olympus OM-D E-M1 Mark III Review: Best Travel Camera?

New Post has been published on https://bestedevices.com/olympus-om-d-e-m1-mark-iii-review-best-travel-camera.html

Olympus OM-D E-M1 Mark III Review: Best Travel Camera?

"The Olympus E-M1 Mark III makes previously impossible recordings easy."

Excellent stabilization

Starry sky auto focus

Fast performance

High-resolution handheld mode

Weatherproof

EVF could be better

The measurement was somewhat unpredictable

Same sensor as Mark II

Some photographers are pixel peepers. They reach for the largest sensors with the highest resolution and are only looking for the sharpest optics in order to reproduce a test card perfectly. The $ 1,800 Olympus OMD E-M1 Mark III won't please these photographers. in fact, it completely ignores them.

This is the camera for everyone else, especially for those who value a compact, adventurous system. Photographers who want long zoom and short size lenses; and photographers looking for a camera that makes even the most difficult shots fun.

Olympus suspends the full-frame race, sticks to the smaller Micro Four Thirds format that it developed, and focuses on usability with features that no other brand offers. For the most part, it works.

This includes brand new features like Starry Sky AF, an autofocus mode specifically designed to focus on the stars (those in the sky; this is not a paparazzi mode). These include a stabilization system with 7.5 apertures and integrated ND filters (neutral density), with which you can leave the tripod and the screw-on filter (at least in most cases) at home.

We tested the limits of the E-M1 Mark III on the beaches and jungles of Costa Rica for four days and then put the camera through its paces in a northeastern winter for a few weeks. While the E-M1 Mark III isn't the best camera you can buy for $ 1,800, it's the best interchangeable camera on the go.

Design and build quality

The E-M1 Mark III offers similar functions to the E-M1X, but in a smaller form without the built-in battery handle. With the 12-45mm 1: 4 PRO, the smallest weatherproof combination that Olympus offers. I was able to put the camera, four lenses, two teleconverters – enough for a range of 600 mm – and an iPad in a backpack. I even had enough space to put my tripod in my backpack instead of strapping it out. A difference that allowed me to pack everything in hand luggage for a four-day international photo tour.

Despite the smaller size and weight – around 20.5 ounces – the handle of the E-M1 Mark III is comfortable and there is still plenty of room for physical controls, including a dual control and autofocus joystick. Olympus was also able to use two SD card slots, although only slot is UHS-II compatible.

The control layout is solid, if not perfect. I love the programmable mode switch that can be used to quickly switch between two camera settings. Although it can do much more, I used it to quickly switch from simple to continuous autofocus when photographing wildlife.

A joystick, two steering wheels and an ISO button near the thumb provide easy focus and exposure settings. The key combinations for focus modes, measurement, burst, timer and flash are located in the top left.

On the less positive side, the record button and exposure compensation are right next to each other on the top of the camera near the trigger. With the same size and shape, I accidentally started recording several times when I wanted to adjust the exposure. These two controls take a little more time to use the camera comfortably without having to pull the viewfinder away from my eye.

For more controls, a quick menu contains less frequently used options. The full menu is known to anyone who has previously shot Olympus, but it takes a bit of a hunt to find options for less known people.

The E-M1 III uses a 3-inch, 1.037 million dot touchscreen that is tilted to the side of the camera, so you can rotate the screen in selfie orientation without being blocked by a tripod.

As with the E-M1X, however, I was not impressed by the electronic viewfinder. The refresh rate was solid, but the images had less contrast than the LCD screen. With 2.36 million points, there are several EVFs on the market that offer a higher resolution.

The magnesium alloy case is sealed against dust and splashes and feels firm in the hands, which comes as no surprise to anyone who previously used a high-end Olympus camera. It even survived my accidental durability test when the tide came in a little faster than expected while the camera was on the beach. Although it is more of a partial immersion than a simple splash, both the E-M1 and the new 12-45mm kit lens were no worse to carry. A small amount of beach sand penetrated directly into the battery compartment, but if the camera survives being hit by a sea wave, it should be able to survive the announced splash and dust without any problems.

The E-M1 Mark III does not have the double batteries of the E-M1X, but the battery life of a mirrorless camera is solid. I didn't have to replace the battery until the end of the day, about 800 shots later. (My preference for burst mode usually allows me to achieve more than the specified battery life – the CIPA rating is 420 shots or 900 in quick sleep mode).

Features and performance

Shot with Starry Sky AF and a tripod, edited in Adobe Lightroom

Compared to larger cameras, taking pictures with the E-M1 Mark III is liberating. While most mirrorless cameras are easy to carry, the E-M1 can leave both the tripod and the ND filters in most cases. With a 7-stage stabilization system (7.5 with the M.Zuiko Digital ED 12-100 mm f / 4.0 PRO lens) and the built-in NDs, I took several long-term exposures of ocean waves during the day without removing my tripod from the take backpack.

Olympus has the best stabilization system of any manufacturer, and says that most people can take 6-second wide-angle shots without a tripod. This is impressive. But with a firm grip it is possible to get even more out. Although I love long exposures, I hate taking my tripod anywhere and I took long exposures much more often because I could hold them in my hand.

Starry Sky AF is a new feature that is unknown to other brands. It worked surprisingly well.

Long-term handheld exposures aren't new to the E-M1 Mark III, but a handheld photo of the night sky without a tripod – or manual focus – is definitely. The camera's new Starry Sky AF mode does not use contrast detection, phase detection, or even a hybrid of the two systems. Instead, the luminance is used to look for the points of light that create stars against a black sky.

The system has two modes: speed priority for hand shooting and accuracy priority when working on a tripod. The mode is also set up to use focus with the back button instead of focusing with half a press on the shutter release, so focus simply stays locked when you re-formulate the shot.

Photographing stars is one of the more difficult types of photography, since a tripod is usually required and the sweet spot must be found on the manual focus ring, which can take multiple test shots before it is just right. The combination of stabilization and starry AF of the E-M1 III simplifies the shooting of stars, makes it easier for advanced photographers and is accessible for beginners. I would still prefer a tripod to get the best results, but the fact that one isn't required is very impressive.

Starry Sky AF is a new feature that is unknown to other brands. It worked surprisingly well. While not as fast as the camera's usual autofocus, it surpasses manual focus. And because the system is based on luminance, it also works with other types of light sources that are surrounded by darkness, such as night cityscapes.

While the Starry Sky AF is the star of the show, the E-M1 Mark III's 121-point on-chip phase detection autofocus system – a system almost identical to the E-M1X – performs well. The focusing speed is not record-breaking, but has kept pace with everything from surfers to birds in flight. The auto focus in low light is also respectable, if not the best in its class, with a sensitivity of up to -3.5 EV.

Eye AF is comparable to other mirrorless systems from competitors.

Face and eye AF also worked well and quickly recognized and fixed the eyes. While probably not fast enough for sports, eye AF is comparable to other mirrorless systems from competitors. Some systems, such as the Nikon Z 6 and Z 7, require the use of an automatic AF area for eye AF to work. The E-M1 Mark III can use Eye AF in Group AF mode, which means there is less need to switch between focus modes when changing your subjects. Eye AF for animals, a function that is becoming increasingly common with other brands, is also missing.

Tracking autofocus worked just as well as any camera I've shot with – which means it sometimes works and sometimes it's junk. I managed to take a few sharp shots, but with group mode and simple continuous autofocus, I got better results. However, I don't really count this as a negative because I haven't yet met a tracking autofocus camera that is good enough for quick actions (newer Sony models like the A6600 might be an exception).

The E-M1 Mark III also didn't inherit the E-M1X's motorsport focus mode (which actually works quite well for tracking). The niche function requires two processors to function and therefore remains exclusive to the high-end flagship model. However, the single processor of the E-M1 upgraded to TruPic IX still manages to achieve the most performance.

The E-M1 III is fast enough for most photographers. It can shoot with the mechanics at 10 frames per second or with the quiet electronic shutter at 18 frames per second. If you don't need continuous autofocus, You can increase this speed up to 15 or 60 fps. The frame buffer limits approximately 76 RAW shots when shooting at 18 frames per second. However, we have found that this is sufficient to accommodate everything from birds to surfers.

The TruPic IX processor also enables a new high-resolution handheld mode that uses the image stabilization system and the tiny movements of your hands to combine 16 photos into a 50 megapixel file. The mode is only suitable for perfectly calm subjects, but offers the possibility of achieving a higher resolution if the 20.4 megapixels of the sensor are not sufficient.

picture quality

The E-M1 Mark III has the same sensor as the Mark II with the same resolution of 20 MP. Given the small size of the sensor, increasing the resolution will eventually reduce the return, so 20 MP is fine. However, there is no way around the fact that this sensor, which is now many years old, has limitations compared to larger, more modern sensors. The E-M1 Mark III is still good enough for most photographers, but don't expect a jump in image quality over older models.

However, this smaller sensor has advantages. One of the biggest advantages of the 2X crop factor makes it easier to achieve a longer focal length. 600 mm equivalent range, a groundbreaking focal length in full screen mode, can be easily taken along.

The excellent image stabilization is also of great help with these long lenses. Even with relatively slow shutter speeds, the details remained sharp when shooting with a 600 mm handheld.

And while the sensor remains unchanged, a new detail priority mode processes high ISO images twice, slowing the camera down but increasing the level of detail. When processing with speed priority, the noise creeps in around ISO 800, and details and sharpness tend to go down around ISO 3,200. Fortunately, the excellent stabilization for still subjects can help keep the ISO low.

The camera's metering system felt less predictable than most of the others even in spot metering mode, and I was regularly on the exposure compensation dial to get the exposure right in aperture priority and shutter priority mode.

This gator was polite enough for high-resolution mode, though it took a few tries.

If you need additional resolution, the high-resolution handheld mode can be of great help. The photo above was taken in this mode and even cropped in the mail. The subject must remain still, and the camera takes a few extra seconds to put everything together, but provides detail for some subjects.

The video follows a similar pattern with good color and excellent stabilization. Taking even wide-angle shots without a tripod was easy, with just a little movement in the video. The detail is excellent thanks to the 4K resolution of the cinema.

Price and availability

The Olympus OM-D E-M1 Mark III is $ 1,800 and was released on February 24th.

Our opinion

The Olympus OM-D E-M1 Mark III is a small camera, but it is also a camera that works in a way that other cameras cannot. Features like Starry Sky AF and high-resolution handheld mode are unique advantages. Because you pack a weatherproof camera and smaller lenses, leave the tripod and the ND filters at home and still get solid images, the E-M1 Mark III is an ideal camera on the go.

But it is not perfect. The viewfinder resolution is a few generations out of date, the measuring system feels inconsistent and many other basic systems such as the 121-point autofocus and the 20MP Four Thirds sensor are adopted by the Mark II.

Is there a better alternative?

For $ 1,800, you get a lot of camera, including the recently announced Fujifilm X-T4, which has a larger APS-C sensor but is similar in size to the E-M1. Even the Sony A7 III in full screen mode is the better choice for photographers who are more concerned with the highest image quality than with large zoom and a lot of stabilization.

However, no competing camera has 7-stage image stabilization (the Fuji comes close to 6.5, but only with selected lenses). No other camera can focus on the stars or take astrophotography without a tripod. And no other format can pack a 600 mm range in a 300 mm lens.

So whether there is a "better" camera depends on your definition of "better". Is there a camera with better picture quality for the price? Absolutely. But is there a better alternative for travel photography? Probably not.

How long it will take?

The weather seal makes the E-M1 Mark III a tough machine. The updated shutter is one of Olympus' best with 400,000 operations. My test device survived being partially submerged in sea water. Aside from more extreme disasters, the camera should last for many years and even longer if Olympus chose the Mark IV.

Should you buy it

Yes, if you want a great interchangeable lens camera on the go or obsessed with long exposures, but hate to carry a tripod with you. Image stabilization, built-in NDs and Starry Sky AF are all great.

The smaller sensor is less ideal for genres like portraits, weddings, and fashion, where you can spend a similar amount of money on a full-frame body and where the advanced features of the E-M1 III just don't work.

Editor's recommendations

[nh935]

Creepy America Episode 4: Red Like Roses

Creepy America

Episode 4

“Red Like Roses”

Hurricane, West Virginia

Over the years, Zoey and I have faced a lot of dangers filming “Creepy America”. Towards the end, it came to be expected that an episode would threaten our lives in some way. It should have been anticipated; after all, “Creepy America” was the equivalent of regularly poking a starving bear with a stick to see what happened. But before we adjusted to it, it was harrowing. Considering some of the things we went through, it’s a miracle that we even decided to keep working on the show at all. And while we had a few close calls with “Worlds of Wonder” and “The Things We Leave Behind”, it was during the episode “Red Like Roses” that the danger of what we were doing truly sank in for both of us.

***

We had just left Ohio and had made our way into West Virginia. Our last two episodes were edited and ready to upload, but Zoey insisted that we wait a week before uploading the first episode (second if you’re counting “Worlds of Wonder”, I suppose) so that we could use the two episode buffer to try to keep a regular update schedule. In the meantime, whoever wasn’t driving was using the trip time to promote the show online: we set up the website and put a countdown on it, updated the youtube channel with “Worlds of Wonder” on it, and made official social media accounts to start talking about it. Zoey had also edited together a trailer to post, made with clips from our previous three episodes. It didn’t make too many waves, but we got enough bites to keep our spirits up.

As I passed the sign letting me know I had crossed state lines, Zoey was on youtube, refreshing the page with the trailer on it and reading comments to me.

“Oh, here’s another one! ‘Cool idea. Effects could use a little work, though.’”

“They think it’s fake?” I asked.

“I guess so.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

She thought about it, then shrugged. “Not really. I mean, if they like the show, who cares, right?”

“I guess.” A brief silence fell over the R.V.

“What’s wrong about that?” Zoey asked.

“Huh? About what?”

“The show. Why does it bother you if people think it’s fake?”

I sighed. “It’s just, I don’t know, doesn’t it seem like we’re doing our audience a disservice by letting them think it’s not real?”

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“Well, if they think it’s not real, then they don’t know to look out for it.”

“Look out for it?”

“Yeah, they won’t think it’s a threat.”

“Why would they have to worry about it?”

I could feel my face getting red. “Well, I mean, like what if they come across it in real life? Wouldn’t they not know what to do?”

“But if they saw the episode, wouldn’t they still know? I mean, they wouldn’t think it’s fake if it was right in front of them.”

“I guess not. Nevermind.” I saw a sign for the upcoming towns and exits. “Hey, Hurricane. Isn’t that our next stop?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah! Hold on a sec.” She flipped open her laptop and started reading off directions for the nearest R.V. park.

***

The R.V. park was a sight that was becoming increasingly familiar: a set of parallel roads with long parking spots set in the middle of a grassy field. I backed into a spot and began hooking up the various utilities to the corresponding tubes and plugs while Zoey left to pay for our stay and ask some questions about the town over.

I had just sat down inside the R.V. to rest when Zoey came back. She entered, flopped something on the table, and began rifling through drawers.

“What is this?” I asked, turning over an old black composition notebook, weathered and worn, in my hands.

“No idea. I found it in some woods not too far away.” Zoey said, plopping down our large over-the-shoulder camera. “But did you see what’s inside?”

I stared at her with an eyebrow raised, then opened the cover. Inside were the words ‘Jenny Walsh, English Notebook, 3rd Grade’ scratched through with one long line. Underneath in much larger letters read: ‘Jenny Walsh’s Notebook of Curses and Spells, TOP SECRET!’ I looked back up to see Zoey mounting the large equipment on a tripod. “Wait, we’re not trying to do an episode on this, are we?”

She glanced from behind the equipment. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a kid’s notebook. It’s probably just full of nonsense words and drawings of Patronuses. The only place this thing will work is on the playground.”

She shrugged. “Then we scrap the footage or put it in the bloopers.”

“But still, a kid’s notebook?”

Zoey ignored me and finished placing the cameras around: one positioned at each of us, and one to capture us both sitting at the small booth in the R.V. Hitting a button on the laptop, she sat down across from me. “So, do you want to try doing the introduction this time?”

I shook my head. “You are so much better at doing those.”

“Alright then,” she said. “Three, two, one, and… Hello ladies and gentlemen, and welcome back to Creepy America. We’re in Hurricane, West Virginia today, a state with more local legends and lore than anyone else, it seems. In fact, this state is so full of darkened corners that we seem to have found something after being here for only a few hours.”

“Yeah, something.” I mumbled.

Zoey shot me a look of annoyance. “I found this in the woods around our R.V. park. As you can see” she said, flipping open the book to the first page, “it seems to be a homemade spellbook of some kind. We’re going to find out if it actually works.” She started turning pages. As she did, her brow furrowed and she squinted her eyes. “Rog… rojol… I can’t read this, it’s all in cursive.”

I sighed and outstretched my arm. Zoey handed it over to me.

I looked down at the pages. “Royal… Command. A charm and mind control spell, done in the form of ‘hanc vitam diligere plus quam se’. Strange.” I turned the next page. “Gilded Heart. A spell for acquiring riches. ‘Midas non indiget familia’.” I started flipping through page after page. “These are written like… I don’t know, some kind of medieval spellbook.”

Zoey hopped up on her seat so she could lean over and look at the pages. “What are you waiting for? Try one.”

I looked back down at the page I had stopped at. “Red like Roses, a death curse to put on your worst enemies, created in the style of ‘sanguis liberate’.” I glanced up, eyebrows raised.

She just gave me a look of ‘go on, read it’.

I shrugged and began reading aloud. “Based on the Hecate school of spellcasting. Needs no components; words alone are enough. Read the following loudly and clearly:

Red like roses, blue like breath White like snow, black like death I have been wronged, o demon lords My enemy lives, so draw your swords I call upon the dark and wrong To right me as I sing this song Red like roses, blue like fate White like cold, black like hate For all the things that gave me pains Deserve not the blood in their veins Liberate it now, let it flow free I ask you this on bended knee Red like roses, blue like chill White like flesh, black like swill I do affirm this as my will Use my eyes, make me kill

After reading, the next person the spellcaster sees will be affected by the curse, so be careful. Best read when the person you want to kill is nearby. A good stealth spell.”

I blinked a few times, then slowly put the book down. “Well, even if it was fake, that was certainly creepy. Especially in a kid’s notebook.” I looked back up at Zoey. “ I mean, what has to happen to you to…”

Zoey suddenly stopped smiling. Her eyes went wide and her hand went to her throat.

“Zoey…”

She started coughing. Horrible, gasping guttural sounds, bereft of air, filled the room.

I flung the notebook to the side of the room and flew over to her side of the table. “Zoey, hang on. Hold on, I just… I…”

She looked at me with bug eyes for a second, then the face of panic was replaced with a wide smile. She started laughing. “Liam… your face....”

I stood up. “You… you’re an ass.”

“Yeah, I know.” She grinned and walked over to the notebook and picked it up. “Guess someone’s not as skeptical as they’d like you to believe, huh?”

“Shut up.”

***

While we were excited to explore West Virginia so that we could find more subject matter for “Creepy America”, we were in Hurricane specifically for “Faces of America”. We still had to keep that project going, and that meant interviewing as many different demographics of people as possible. Zoey liked the area because “it’s the perfect example of small-town podunkville, complete with weird pronunciation.”

Her words, not mine.

Surprisingly, quite a few people took us up on our little project. I guess people will jump at the chance to ramble on about themselves. Even the store owners on Main Street were willing to let us interrupt their work day so we could needle them with questions.

We were at the local hardware store, talking to the large man behind the counter, listening to him go on about high school dances or railroads or… something. I can’t remember what. Zoey always managed to approach each interview with enthusiasm and rabid interest; I had problems just staying awake.

“...so that’s when I bought the place. This place is… well, it’s part of the landscape, as much as the trees or the mountains or even the sky itself. To let ‘em tear it down, it’d be akin to blasphemy, I’d reckon. We’d lose a piece of our souls.”

I remember that part, because I had a hard time stopping myself from rolling my eyes so hard they’d pop out of my skull. For heaven’s sake, the place sold nails. If Zoey was thinking the same, she didn’t let it show. “Wow. That’s quite a story there.”

The man beamed with pride.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, it was truly a pleasure.” She moved her hand horizontally through the air, a signal she gave to me when she wanted me to stop recording. “Thank you again for sharing your tale with us, we really do appreciate it.”

“No problem. To be honest, it was kind of fun.”

Placing the camera onto the ground, I started to collapse the tripod, only to hear a rustling sound. I looked down to see a sheet of orange and white paper, dirty and torn from residing on the ground, no doubt.

Curious, I bent down and picked it up. At the top of the page was “AGATHA SORIN'S GUIDE TO MAKING YOUR OWN SPELL!” in big bold letters. Cartoon witches with green skin smiled in the corners, while the page contained nonsense syllables and instructions on how to combine them.

The man saw me holding the page. “Oh! Sorry about that. Must’ve been a leftover from the Halloween activity books. A few of those pages always manage to hide before I can staple ‘em all together.”

“Agatha Sorin?” I asked, pointing to the name.

“Just an ol’ folktale. Accordin’ to legend, she was one of the first witches in Salem to be convicted, but before they could burn ‘er, she escaped. People say she made it here and spent the rest of her life up in a log cabin near Deadbear Falls.” He chuckled. “Some city folks came ‘round and disproved it all a few years ago, but that doesn’t keep ‘er from being a local celebrity every Halloween.”

Zoey and I looked at each other.

“Any chance you could tell us where this Deadbear Falls is?” she asked.

***

Deadbear Falls turned out to be a small creek that ran down a hill, situated deep in the thick West Virginian woods.

The forest it ran through was cold and quiet, the October air creating a soft hush on everything. Leaves covered the ground, but they had lost most of their vibrant oranges and reds since falling, instead taking on various shades of brown matching the dirt beneath. Our trek was only punctuated by the babbling of the small stream and the shuffling of disturbed foliage.

Otherwise, there was nothing up here. Especially not a log cabin.

I sighed. “So much for that.”

“He did say it got disproved a few years ago.” Zoey said, walking ahead of me. “At least it’s pretty. We could use this for woAH!” Suddenly she was on the  ground, face buried in leaves. I rushed over and helped her up.

“I’m okay, I’m okay” she muttered, sitting herself up.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Dunno. Foot caught on something.” She kicked towards a pile of leaves, and as her foot pushed them aside, we both heard a dull ‘thunk’.

We looked at each other, then started throwing handfuls of leaves away.

It was a small metal footlocker, black paint peeling away, replaced by spots of rust. In one corner was the name “Jenny Walsh”.

“Zoey…”

“Yeah, I see.”

We sat in silence for a while.

I put my fingers under the box lid and began to pull up. The lid rattled around a bit and there was a dull groaning sound of something being strained inside.

“Wait, Liam, that’s somebody…”

All of a sudden, the lid flew open with a resounding “POP!” and I fell backwards, catching myself as I did.

“Huh. Lock must be rusted away. This thing’s been out here for a long time.” Zoey looked at me, then reached into the box. She came out with a small bundle of black fibers, wrapped together with a red string. “What is this, a lock of hair?”

I reached inside as well, withdrawing tiny gleaming metal cufflinks, necklace pieces, and even a few forks. “Silver?”

I looked back over to Zoey. She was holding tiny pieces of chalky white items, long like sticks but far more smooth. “Liam, these are…”

“...animal bones” I finished. I hesitated for a moment, then put the items back into the metal footlocker. “Let’s leave these here. I don’t really like this, Zoey. We should head back to the R.V. and…” I turned back to her and stopped.

There was a small trickle of crimson coming from her nose.

A trickle of blood.

***

“You’re overreacting, Liam.”

Instead of heading to the nearest doctor like I insisted, we were seated in a booth at the local diner. There were only a few people besides us in the yellow-white building, which was just as well; I kept noticing the others making side-long glances at us while they thought we weren’t looking.

It was no doubt because of Zoey. She had her head tilted forward, a bundle of white paper held to her nose. Dotting the table were more bunches of paper, stained crimson with blood, and a large roll of cheap toilet paper next to Zoey’s right. The waitress had brought it out after apologetically telling us there “weren’t no tissues”.

“I mean, of all the people to freak out over a nosebleed, you are the last on my list.” She withdrew the bundle of paper, saw that had too much blood soaked through to be serviceable, and put it aside, unwrapping another length of toilet paper and wadding it up.

I looked at the paper now stained red. Red like roses.

I tore myself away from the tissue to look at Zoey. “You can’t tell me that you think that this isn’t weird, right?”

“This isn’t weird” she huffed. “Remember Griffith Park?”

I sat back in my seat a bit. When we were both in fifth grade, our class had gone on a field trip to the Griffith Park Train Museum. While we were waiting on the bus for our teacher to come back from the ticket counter, Zoey’s nose started bleeding. Some of the other kids started freaking out, and one of the girls told Zoey to pinch her nose and tilt her head back so that she wouldn’t start losing blood. Zoey, who had been pretty calm up to this point, shrugged and did so. After a minute, she complained about her stomach feeling funny.

Another minute passed, and she vomited up blood all over the bus floor.

The scene our teacher came back to was one of mass panic, bus driver included. To her credit, she handled everything well, even when Zoey had quietly asked if she was going to die. Obviously she didn’t, but she was attended to by ambulance paramedics who had to get the story about what had happened out of a bunch of freaked-out kids. When they did hear it, they calmed down and let our teacher know there was nothing wrong.

Turns out that you’re not supposed to hold your head back during a nosebleed. The blood will just go to the stomach, and because the stomach can’t digest blood, it’ll vomit it back out when too much gets in there.

Hence why Zoey was bent over and talking more to the table than to me.

“Alright, fine.” I conceded. “But after what happened this morning, we can’t take any chances.”

“What are you…” A sudden look of realization crossed her face. “Oh come on.”

“The spell said ‘the next person you look at’. That was you. And remember those words? ‘Sanguis Liberate’? I looked it up. It’s Latin for ‘free the blood’.”

“Liam, it was a kid’s notebook.”

“A kid who buries hair and animal bones out in the woods, apparently.”

“Yeah, fine. It’s a disturbed kid’s notebook. But not a witch-in-training.”

“Why not? There’s stories of witches all over early America in locations like this. There’s even a witch who relocated here.”

“Alright, first off, we were told that that legend was disproved by one of the locals. Not exactly accurate, now is it? And secondly, most of those stories of early witches ended up with them getting burnt alive. Something tells me if they did have some actual mojo, those stories would have ended differently.”

I stayed silent for a bit. “But… the timing…”

“What, you mean late Fall, early Winter? The time when the air is driest and my nose always bleeds?” She sighed. “Look, I appreciate the concern, I really do, but I’m fine. I swear. See?” She held up the last bundle of paper, much less red than white. “It’s stopped already.”

I looked at her for a few moments, the slouched. “Alright, sorry. I guess you’re right. I was just…”

“Y’all ready to order?” the waitress asked, coming around to our table.

“Damn right I am. I’m starving.” Zoey said.

I pushed some of the bloody tissues away from me with a straw. “I think I’ll just stick with coffee, thanks.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, we were walking through a house with a tiny old widow and I was beginning to question my liberal use of the bottomless coffee deal. I had loaded up on caffeine to keep myself awake through the next round of interviews, but my body didn’t quite like the fact that I had downed cup after cup without real food, and it was rebelling by making my hands shake something fierce.

On top of that, the house was narrow, with hallways thin and small. We had left the cozy three or four rooms the widow regularly used and now were traveling through areas of the house she hadn’t gone through in years: corridors dusty with age and rooms filled with long forgotten memorabilia. The twilight had a hard time penetrating inside, making the shadows dark and deep. No heat filled this area, she had the vents blocked off, so I could feel the cold drafts of air brush against my skin as I awkwardly high stepped around tables and boxes.

All while trying to keep that damn camera still.

“We were doing our best to survive, but it wasn’t easy. William’s leg had forced him into disability and that money barely kept us afloat. Then Nixon announced the draft, and Kenny had to go to Vietnam. Just like that. He never came back.”

A few steps went on in silence. Zoey didn’t like to talk during these interviews; she said that her presence was supposed to be “as invisible as possible”.

We arrived in a small room, boxes stacked into corners with black sharpies. “These are his things” she said with a sigh. “I was supposed to give most of this away, but by the time I could finally face these items… well, it didn’t seem so important.”

She picked up a small pocket knife, unfolded it, and handed it over to Zoey. She took the blade almost reverently, looking it up and down, dancing her fingertips on the edge.

“Ow!”

She hissed and withdrew her hand. A small bead of blood was forming on the tip of her index finger.“Oh my,” the old lady said. “Hold on just one moment, I’ve got a kit in the kitchen…”

“No need” Zoey said, reaching into the camera bag. She withdrew a small box and undid some wrappings. “Got band-aids right here. If you don’t mind, though, could Liam and I grab those folding chairs in your kitchen? I’d really appreciate it if we could sit and discuss some of these items, and I think my cameraman could use the break.”

“Well, if you’re sure… I suppose I wouldn’t mind a little sit down.”

“Thanks. We’ll be right back.”

As we walked, Zoey tore off the little papers and stuck them in her pocket.

“Thank you” I whispered.

“No problem. I know how heavy those things get” she replied.

I looked back down to her hand. “Zoey, are you sure…”

She flashed me a look of annoyance that said don’t you dare bring up that stupid spell now, we’ve finally filming something good.

I stayed quiet.

We arrived back in the kitchen area, Zoey grabbing a folding metal chair while I picked up two more. “After this, I’m not sure how much more we need to film, Liam. I mean honestly, this old woman could fill up a movie herself.”

She stepped in front of me, leading the way. As she did, I heard a wet, dripping sound, and I looked down.

There was a trail of the stuff. I’m not kidding, an actual trail. At the front of it was the Band-Aid, soaked in red, floating in the liquid like a leaf in a pond. Leading onwards was a small trickle, a miniature macabre river, flowing. Literally flowing, like water. I could see the small ripples of motion in it, rushing forward as it pooled and pushed past in that strange jerky way liquid does when it runs over new ground for the first time.

I had never seen so much blood.

She turned around and smiled at me. Holy shit, I thought, I can actually see her turning white.

“Maybe it could be a short, y’know? We should go over what we have scheduled, if she…” she stopped and furrowed her brow at me.

I was so stunned I could barely speak. “Zoey… your…”

She looked down at her hand, seeing the flood of scarlet coating the chair and slowly dribbling its way down to the floor.

She whispered a very soft “oh”, and fainted.

***

It didn’t take long for the ambulance to arrive. My tone of voice on the phone probably assured that. 

I was riding in the back with the paramedics, watching in horror. It was unreal. Most of their time was spent winding and unwinding gauze; it seemed like as soon as they finished securing the hand in cloth, they had to undo it, cotton useless as it became dirty and dripping with blood. The frenzy of activity had smeared a good portion of it on the walls and medical equipment. The floor was slick with it. Once or twice one of them had to catch himself from falling.

How much was in there, I wondered, and how much could she afford to lose? I felt numb and sick to my stomach all at the same time.

“Sir? Sir!” one of them snapped at me.

“Huh, yes? What?”

“Do you know if she has any blood disorders?”

“Any… no, none.”

“What about medication? Any blood pressure, heart regulation, aspirin?”

“No, no. None of that.”

“Are you sure, sir? Any chance?”

“I’ve known her for all my life. There’s nothing.” I stared at her, then asked in almost a whisper “what’s happening to her?”

The man only gave me back a look of pure dread and confusion. It was the kind of look an atheist would have gave after seeing the devil.

***

Two minutes later and I was in the hospital waiting room. I had tried to follow Zoey as she was rushed around one hallway and then another, but I had been pushed back by an old but insistent nurse and deposited into this empty sitting room, a musty yellow and brown place buzzing with fluorescents. I had gotten a styrofoam cup from the coffee machine and sat in one of the chairs, mindlessly tearing it into tiny pieces.

I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t even think. All I could do was let the worry and dread sink onto my shoulders, becoming heavier and heavier and heavier.

Finally, a man in a lab coat came through the double doors. I shot up and walked over to him.

“What’s going on? Is Zoey…”

“Calm down” the doctor said. “She’s stable, at least, for now. We managed to stop the bleeding and get a blood transfer going, but she’s still pretty weak. To be expected, really, considering how much of it she lost.”

“Do you know what’s happening to her?” I asked softly.

“We were hoping you could help us out with that, Mr. Foster. On the ambulance ride over, you said that she didn’t have any blood disorders, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Are you sure? Hemophilia, anemia, sickle cell… anything?”

“No, nothing. I’ve known her since we were kids, she’s never been diagnosed with any of that stuff.”

“What about other medical conditions? Has she ever been diagnosed with high blood pressure or hypertension?” I shook my head. “Has she been prescribed any blood thinners?” Another shake. “Has she recently taken any aspirin or alcohol?” Shake.

His shoulders slumped a bit and he wrote down some notes on his clipboard.  “Have she taken any… illicit substances lately?”

“What? No.”

He stared at me.

“She hasn’t,” I said with a glare.

He nodded, jotting down more notes.

“What’s happening to her?”

He sighed, then looked back at me. “We’ve... diagnosed her with Sudden Onset Hemophilia.”

I looked at him, then scoffed.“Sudden Onset? What, like a fucking cold? You don’t just develop blood disorders. Especially genetic ones.”

“Mr. Foster,” he said, voice becoming clipped and sharp, “we are doing the best we can with limited information. Now unless you have any suggestions...:”

“Red like roses.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing. I… I suppose you’re right.” My voice went even quieter. “Is she going to make it?”

He stayed silent for a few moments. “Honestly? We don’t know. She’s responsive, which is a good sign, but she’s weak, and the body can only handle so much. Right now, all we can do is wait and see.”

“Right… yeah… wait and see…”

“You can see her now, if you’d like. Please try not to excite her; the best thing for her is calm and rest.”

“Yeah… calm�� got it…” I ignored the doctor, pushing open the doors and heading to the right.

There she was, lying in bed, paler than a sheet of paper, tubes hooked up to her nose and a red bag snaking its way into her vein. The room was devoid of sound, save for the soft beeping and whirring of machines. Her eyes fluttered open with effort, as if weights were attached to them, and she grinned in a weak, grimacing way.

“Hey, guess you were right about that whole spell thing, huh? Get to say I told you so.” She tried to force a chuckle, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit.

I said nothing, just sat down in the chair next to her and held her hand.

“Well, this is certainly embarrassing. Cursing myself. Makes for a good episode, though, right? I’m sure we’ll laugh about it once…”

“It’s not going away” I muttered. “It’s not going to go away.”

She stopped and turned to me, eyes wide. “W-what?”

“They diagnosed you with hemophilia, Zoey. It’s a permanent disorder; the platelets in your blood aren’t working. It’s not clotting.”

The weak smile came back. “Well, I’m sure they can fix it, if they know…”

“They can’t. It’s a genetic disorder. It’s in your DNA now. Even if they save you, your life has permanently changed. Any cut will be an emergency. Any injury will be life-threatening. You’ll have to live your life defensively, checking yourself. Protecting yourself. Worrying.”

The silence fell back into the room. Tears began to fall down Zoey’s face.

I rose to my feet. “It’s alright. I’m going to fix this.”

She clutched my hand tighter, trying to force me back. “Liam, don’t leave me alone.” I could feel how feeble the grip had become. “I’m scared. Please.” 

Her hands shook so much. 

“I have to. The doctors, they don’t know what happened. Wouldn’t believe me if I told them. They can’t fix it, so I’ll have to.” I gave her hand a small squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. Everything will be fine. We’ll even laugh about this, I promise.”

“Liam!” I heard her cry, but I was already hurrying down the hallway.

***

I slammed the door to the R.V. open, hard enough to knock down the cheap wall clock hanging on the adjoining wall. “Alright Jenny…” I grabbed the notebook and began flipping through pages, “tell me how to fix this.”

I read as fast as humanly possible. “Lilith’s Kiss- to turn someone into a snake. Unluck on That! A curse to give your enemy misfortune. Night Air. An invisibility spell. Fetch’s Lullabye- a spell to inflict nightmares.”

“RRRGH!” I flung the book to the other side of the R.V., papers flying through the air with the force of the throw. As I collapsed into a chair, I noticed one of the papers by my feet. I picked it up and read it.

“Red like Roses, a death curse to put on your worst enemies, created in the style of ‘sanguis liberate’. Based on the Hecate school of spellcasting.” I stopped. “Based on the Hecate school…” I mumbled, “of course!”

I slammed the door open again and ran for my car.

***

All eyes were on me when I flung the door of the Hurricane Public Library open. They must have been expecting someone to enter dramatically; no doubt they heard the screeching of my tires when I flew in.

The small building was cramped, shelves forming narrow aisles labeled by subject. Bright lights overhead illuminated dozens of books stacked neatly on each row.

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t just...” the elderly librarian behind a barcode-scanning gun began. I ignored her and scanned the paper signs at the end of each aisle that organized the information by subject.

Jenny’s spells worked, no doubts about that. But how had she created a fully functioning spellbook? She sure wasn’t taught by any witch; the only source of witchcraft around here was Agathia Sorrin, an obvious fake. A small town like this would be buzzing with rumors if anyone else practiced something similar, and we hadn't heard anything like that while letting them prattle on about themselves. And she didn’t have inside information, either. She had hidden her little box at Deadbear Falls, a location that was a good hike outside of town. Jenny must have had to have gone there for a reason. She was probably looking for Agithia’s cabin. Maybe that’s even why she hid the box there; she thought the location was arcane or something.

Her notebook had also been written in cursive. That meant that she was in school at a time when cursive was still important enough to be taught, i.e., a time before computers handled most of our informational needs. No internet for Jenny. That left only one place where she could have learned how to cast magic, the original sum of human knowledge: the library.

I found the section titled “Parapsychology and Occultism” and started running my finger along book spines, looking for something about witches.

The librarian stood at the end of the bookshelf. “Sir, please...” I didn’t respond.

Most libraries work on computers now, including this one. That’s why that little barcode gun was at the front counter. But before they did that, they used paper, and part of that process was to stamp a date and time of check-out and write the person’s name in a little card inside the book cover; that way, if anyone damaged the book, they knew who to blame. Most have gotten rid of or lost the cards a while ago. After all, why protect something that’s no longer necessary? But if the town wasn’t big, if the library wasn’t used often, if I just had just a little bit of luck…

My finger rested on a large hardcover. “The Encyclopedia of Witchcraft”. I dragged the book down and cracked it open.

There, on the first page, was a tiny paper pocket. Inside was a small card, with neat letters that spelled out “Jenny Walsh, 3-18-88”

I sighed with relief. “Thank heavens for small-town podunkville.”

I tossed the book over to a nearby table, where it landed with a heavy “WHUMP!” I pulled out more books and flipped the covers open, dropping those that didn’t have Jenny’s name and tossing the ones that did over with the Encyclopedia. Once I had gone through every book on witchcraft, I dashed over to the table, pushing past the librarian as I did so.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re making a scene.”

I opened the Encyclopedia and turned to the table of contents, finding the section on “Spells”. I flipped the pages, hard enough to rip some and started scanning passages.

“...believed that incantations could curdle milk and…”

“...danced ritualistically around large pyres…”

“...contracts with devils, evidence left behind as moles…”

“...a list of herbs and other plants to be ground up, then…”

I closed the book hard enough to create a resounding “BANG” and shoved it to the floor. The librarian behind me gasped. “Now you’re damaging the books!”

Without looking at her, I withdrew my wallet and threw it at her. I heard a gasp of surprise and frustration as it hit her, and then footsteps stomping away.

I picked up the next book and opened it to the table of contents, repeating the process over and over again with each one.

“Familiars, in the form of small animals…”

“...accusations in public court…”

“...a magic salve rubbed over brooms…”

“...able to curse people from miles away…”

“...blamed for the deaths of loved ones taken away by sickness…”

I closed another book and slid it off the table. It was empty now; that was the last book on witches that Jenny had checked out, and not a single one held any answers for me.

I banged my head with the meat of my palms. “C’mon Liam, think! What else was there?”

Well, there were animal bones…

I bolted out of my seat, knocking over the chair, and ran to the shelves again. I had to search row by row to find what I wanted; I wasn’t sure what section it would be in, but eventually I found a large book titled “The Trapper’s Bible”. I flipped it open and took out the card.

There it was. Jenny had checked this book out three times in the span of one year.

So she used other books to supplement the occult books. She would have to if she wanted to find spell components. But the only ingredients in “Red Like Roses” were words.

I ran back to another section. “Language”. More spines.

“Latin: The Tongue That Won the West”

Open, pull down. No Jenny on the Card.

“History of Old English”

Skip.

“A Comparative Study of Germanic and…”

Skip.

“Silent Sounds: The Cultural Significance of Words”

Open, pull down. Jenny’s name, printed over seven times on the little card.

I ran back to the little table, pouring over the table of contents. “Religious Rites... Fairy Tales… where is it where is it…”

There, “Spells and Curses”. And underneath, “The Hecate School”

I had to grab the pages multiple times just to turn them. My hands had developed such fierce tremors that I had trouble just gripping them.

“The Hecate School was a discipline of magic that focuses on magic phrases spoken in rhyming couplets. Named after the Greek god of...”

I skipped ahead several paragraphs, trying to find the thing I wanted.

“...making the spells popular. Hecate spells have several elements in common; first, the spell is told in rhyme and rhythm. This is commonly done in iambic pentameter, but not always. Second, the spell should contain some common theme, of which the spell revisits in variations as it continues. Finally, the spell should appeal to a supernatural power. Demons and devils are most often invoked, though spells exist appealing to faeries and even angels.

Section VII- THE MACBEATH SCHOOL”

I stared at the book. “That’s it?” I slammed my fists into the table. “THAT’S IT?”

The few people who were still inside scurried off.

I sat in silence. My trail was cold.

What do I do now?

I felt a vibration from my pants pocket. Someone was calling.

I took my phone out. “Hello?”

“Mr. Foster? This is Hurricane General…”

“How is she?”There was a moment of stuttering on the other end. 

“She, uh, well… She’s not looking too good. We think it might be best to come back, just in case the worst comes to pass.”

I said nothing. My eyes were glued to the pages in front of me.

“Mr. Foster? Hello?”

“If Jenny could figure it out…”

“I’m sorry?” the voice on the phone asked.

“How much time can you give me?” I grabbed a near-by pencil and strip of paper, left in convenient bunches at the center of each table.

“What?”

“I said how much time can you give me? Before she goes critical?”

“Well, I’d highly suggest coming within the next twenty minutes…”

“That’ll have to do.” I hung up and bent over the paper, scribbling down my thoughts as quickly as they would come to me.

Bright as light and pure as snow That’s the Zoey I love and know A gift of happiness and joy As treasured as a child’s toy

I shook my head at the weird imagery, but kept going. No time to be a critic.

Bright as light and pure as snow But here on earth hurt by a foe Angels above, if you are good

“What the hell rhymes with good?” I thought for a second, then crossed the line out

Angels above, if you are upright Deliver her from evil tonight Bright as light and pure as snow

I stopped again. “Why did I have to pick fucking snow?” I grumbled. After an agonizing minute, I moved the pencil again.

Preserve the magic in her glow I beg you please, save her now Keep her alive, I don’t care how.

I stood up, looking over the poem. I took a deep breath, and in the loudest, clearest, most commanding voice I could muster, I read the words of my homemade spell. After finishing the last line, I dropped my speech down to a whisper. “Oh please, oh please oh please…”

The papers of the overturned books were rustled by a breeze. After that, there was nothing but silence and calm.

I stood back up and headed over to the library doors.

The older librarian was there, brandishing my wallet like a dagger at a nonplussed and slightly amused looking police officer. “He’s disturbing the peace! Criminal mischief! Assault!”

“By throwing money at you?”

I cleared my throat. The two turned and looked at me.

“I’ll make you a deal” I said to the officer. “Take me to the hospital, and you can arrest me after I check on someone there.”

***

I slowly walked back into the room. She was still lying there, eyes closed and motionless under the covers of the hospital bed. It seemed quieter than normal, and it took me a while to realize why: the oxygen tube and I.V. bag had been taken away, as well as most of the machinery. There was no medical systems supporting her any more.

I approached her bed. “Zoey?”

Her eyes fluttered open. “L-Liam?”

I threw my arms around her in a tight embrace.

***

The old nurse had shooed me out of the room after talking to Zoey for over fifteen minutes. I was approached by the doctor shortly after that. She’d made a full recovery, he told me. Their best guess was that she had accidentally ingested something that had been tainted by a massive amount of anticoagulants and the substance had just run its course.

I just smiled and thanked them for their expertise.

At this point, I had been running on adrenaline and caffeine for over ten hours with still no food in my system, and my body was letting me know it. I made my way over to the small vending machine and reached inside my pocket, only to remember that my wallet was still at the library.

I felt a small tap on my shoulder.

It was the officer from the library. He held out my wallet to me.

“Oh, thanks.” I took it. “Um, so about that promise…”

“You’re friends with the girl in room 12?” he asked. “The one who came in bleeding all over the place?”

“Yeah…”

“Whatever happened, whatever you did, I don’t want to know, but you’d better drift out the same way you came in.” Having said that, he turned and walked away.

I wished I had been with it more in that moment, or had known what I do now. Looking back on that memory, I can recognize the weariness in his face, the dull sheen of eyes that had seen too much. I wish I realized that he had witnessed something before. That he was the same weird breed of creature we were: those who know something they shouldn’t.

But I didn’t, and he left. I never saw him again.

***

“Quite a strange thing, isn’t it? Such power contained in something so small?”

It was night and the two of us were deep into the woods. Zoey was sitting on a log, illuminated by the light of a small campfire we had built. I was behind the large camera, standing it on its tripod once again, making sure Zoey’s words were being recorded.

She looked back down to the composition notebook held in her hands, several pages sitting in there loose. "Not hard to understand why we hated witches, is it? Such destructive forces, held back by only rhymes. And make no mistake, Jenny was a witch, and we’ll say goodbye to her the same way we’ve said goodbye to her kind for centuries.”

She took the notebook and dropped it into the flames. As she did, a breeze caught it and opened it, showing the paper turn black and curl.

“So the next time you damn something to hell, or curse someone for their actions, perhaps you should think twice about it, gentle viewer. Words have more weight than we give them credit for. Sometimes, much...much more.” She stared into the camera for a few seconds longer, then broke off and looked at me. “How was that? Too corny?”

I shook my head. “No, it was good.” I shut the camera off and walked around to the log, taking a seat next to Zoey. Together, we watched the fire crackle as the wispy ashes of the former notebook were swept up by the wind and carried away.

“There were worse ones in there” I said softly. “Ones designed to drive people mad, or kill everyone in their family but them. Quite a few that summoned monsters to torment people.”

Zoey shook her head. “What has to happen to you to do those things?”

“I don’t know.”

“I just wish you had your camera on you when you went to the library. I’m going to have to get creative to fill in that gap. We should probably invest in some tiny hand cameras, just so we have something filming.”

I stared at her. “Really? That’s what’s on your mind right now?”

“Better than the alternative” she muttered as another blackened page crumbled to soot.

The silence continued between us for a few more minutes.

“Zoey…” I began, “if we’re going to keep doing this, we need to be more careful.”

She turned to me. “Are you lecturing me?”

“And myself as well. After all, I was the one who picked ‘Red Like Roses’. I could have read any of them.” I poked one of the logs with a stick, turning it over in a shower of embers. “From now on, we have to treat anything we find like it’s dangerous. Even if it seems silly. And no more shrugging things off, like nose bleeds. If one of us is worried about it, we need to take it seriously.”

Zoey watched the fire. “Yeah. There should also have a ban on pranks and stuff. Make sure neither of us think the other is goofing around when something bad happens.”

“We should have a codeword of some kind, just in case. Something to say ‘hey, I’m in trouble. I need help now’.”

“What about Oxenfree?” she asked. It was the word we used when we were playing hide-and-seek and the other needed them to come out, usually because it was time to come home.

I nodded. “That’s a good one. We’ll use that.”

Another minute of quiet passed.

“Liam,” Zoey said, “I’m glad you came.”

“What, so I could curse you?”

She punched me in the arm .“Alright, Mr. Wise Guy, I’m not glad. There.” After giving me a second to rub my arm in mock distress, she rested her head on my shoulder. “Seriously, though. I am. It’s nice to know someone’s got your back.”

“And the same to you.” I said, enjoying the last of the flames as they began to die.

“The same to you.”