#it was hard to learn his face structure for building while drawing

[imma-bunni]

Sun Wukong - Monkey King: Hero is Back

Some character face sketches because I really want to be good at drawing him.

A precious baby below the cut

(this face makes my physically clutch my heart it hurtss)

[cherrycoloredfaith]

Kiss Off

pt 1 | pt 4

Chapter 5: Five for My Lonely

cw: blood, alcohol

On mid-June early mornings, the sun touched everything in the brightest golden light. The light burned Steve’s corneas, nearly blinding him as he drove to work, but at least he was on time. 

He could admit he was looking forward to this week. The crew was getting a new project to build a gazebo in a local park; Steve was ready to learn more and have an easier time getting along with Eddie now that they had gotten to know each other a little better.

Once Steve was parked, he met up with the guys at the steps of the clubhouse; Eddie was towering above them, preparing to address the plans. He was laughing with Gareth at something Jeff had said. Steve opened his mouth to say hello, but stopped when Eddie’s eyes merely glanced over him.

“Okay, now that we’re all here, let’s get going. Everyone needs all their gear today, and I’ve got walkies for us in case we wander off.” He tosses one to Jeff, the other attached to his hip. He still wasn’t meeting Steve's eyes. “We’ll load the lumber onto the trailer first, it’s all in the shed. I’ve got the plans from Wayne, but he’ll drop by later to check up and make sure we’re not fucking it up.” He smiled at no one in particular. 

As they walked towards the shed, Steve jogged up to Eddie’s side. “G’Morning. Nice weather we’re having,” he joked. Steve still didn’t have any sunglasses, and he had to shield his eyes with his hand.

Eddie finally looked over after a beat, glancing from his eyes to his hair. “Hard hat, Harrington,” he reminded Steve.

“Oh, yeah, be right back.” He spun around towards the clubhouse. That wasn’t really the response he was looking for. But what was he really looking for? He thought at least they could be friendly after last Friday. Was he actually bothered by Steve’s intrusion that night? Why didn’t he say that at the time?

When they finished loading the lumber and tools they needed, the guys closed the overhead door to the shed. They turned towards the vehicles. “Gareth! You’re with me,” Eddie called. Steve stopped in his tracks while Gareth changed his course and started towards him without a word. 

Steve tried to shoot him a questioning look, but Eddie was already climbing into the driver’s seat. He had no choice but to join Jeff. 

They got to the park in under a half hour. First was set up, securing the area from passersby with signage, fencing, etc. Eddie instructed Steve and Jeff to handle this while he and Gareth mapped out the spots to dig for the columns. To the side sat what looked like an oversized podium made from scrap pieces of plywood and particle board holding the drawings; Steve caught a glimpse of them. It was a typical octagonal structure, vaulted roof and benches surrounding, steps leading up to the center. 

Once the locations were marked, they were all set to start digging. It was hard work; it was early morning, and everyone was already sweating and cursing. Every few minutes Eddie would look at Jeff or Gareth, make a small comment and laugh to each other. He didn’t address Steve in any manner other than to give orders. When 10:00 rolled around and it was time for their break, he sought refuge under a nearby tree, expecting someone to come along as it was the closest shade available. But the three of them leaned against one of the trucks, drinking their waters. Eddie said something to make the others laugh again, and Steve started to wonder what was so fucking funny. He shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths, telling himself the heat was getting to him and everything was fine. 

The rest of the day carried on like that. Wayne stopped by at lunch, checking measurements and going over procedures with Eddie as they stood at the drawing table. Steve sat and watched from his tree as Wayne clapped Eddie on the back with a clear smile of pride on his face. He guessed Eddie was doing things right and couldn’t help but feel jealous. Steve couldn’t remember the last time his own father gave him that look. 

Steve turned away to instead look out at the park from his perch on a hill, under his tree. He had a lunch sack packed by Max, he was told, and he was finishing his sandwich. He watched the people walking their dogs, the kids out of school, the couples hand-in-hand. When he heard feet approaching him, the dry grass crunching under heavy boots, he didn’t turn, but waited to be addressed.

“You picked a nice spot there, Harrington,” came Wayne’s comforting drawl. 

Steve took a swig of water that was slowly warming and looked up to Wayne’s face, squinting in the bright light of the sky. “I forgot sunscreen again, so I had to find shelter,” he joked. 

Wayne laughed, squatting down to be eye level with Steve. A prickle of worry formed in his chest, but he just smiled. “Eddie says you’re doing good work, learning fast.”

Steve blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, says you listen real good. Just wanted to come over and say keep up the good work. And by the way, don’t worry about finding out about Eddie staying at the office, but I’d keep that to myself. It’s no big deal to me, but I don’t think he likes everyone knowin’ his business. Max knows, but I don’t think the other boys do. He won’t hold it against ya.”

Steve begged to differ; as he opened his mouth to reply, Wayne clapped Steve on the back, just as he had seen him do to Eddie minutes before. Wayne finished, “Like I said, you’re doing good, we’re glad to have you on board. I knew you had it in you.” He stood to leave.

In his awe, Steve managed a “thank you,” Wayne nodded in response and headed back towards his truck. 

Despite the praise that passed from Eddie to Wayne to Steve, Eddie still refused to chat with him the rest of the day. As the afternoon sun hit its peak, their work hours came to an end. When they wrapped up, Gareth climbed back in the truck with Eddie, leaving Steve to ride with Jeff again. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Jeff. They even had a relaxed conversation about the project on the way back, laughing here and there about Gareth tripping into a hole he had just dug. But just what was it about Steve that caused Eddie to push him away? Did he just get special treatment, riding with the boss on his first day?

The next three work days went roughly the same. Eddie joking around with Gareth and Jeff, but Steve remained on the outskirts. Whenever he walked up to join in, Eddie found an excuse to walk away; he needed to go check the drawings, he forgot something in the truck, he had to call the surveyor. The heat didn’t yield, and each day got harder and harder to tolerate. Steve was no longer forgetting his sunscreen, but he had to admit, he was in a terrible mood. The heat only made it worse as the days went on. 

By Friday, Steve was on the verge of confronting Eddie. 

At this point, the foundation of the gazebo was ready. Wood columns of 6x6s rose up from the ground at eight points, and joists spanned the octagonal shape, awaiting the floorboards. Gareth and Jeff were the quickest with the nail guns, and the crew only owned two with limited power sources in the middle of a park. So there Steve sat, his boots slipping in the mud of the dirt under the foundation, a box of nails to his right as he hammered them one by one. Eddie stood a ways away, his red hard hat gleaming brightly in the sun. He was reviewing the next steps before he came back to pitch in on the effort of nailing the floorboards down. 

Gareth and Jeff faced away from Eddie, but Steve faced his back. In Eddie’s moment of distraction, Steve let his hands still and let his eyes roam over the man. He’d grown used to the fact that Eddie would always wear black t-shirts and dark jeans despite Steve not understanding why a fashion statement had to be made as a construction manager. Tattoos crawled up his forearms and biceps that Steve had never taken the time to commit to memory. His skin sheened with sweat and curls clung to his skin from the low bun at the nape of his neck. His hands rested on his hips where his tool belt hung low.  Then,  he took note of something different about him. A black bandana he’d never noticed before hung from a back pocket of Eddie’s dark jeans. Something itched at the back of Steve’s mind, something Robin had said that he couldn’t quite remember now–

Eddie began to turn, and Steve panicked.

BAM!–went Steve’s hammer, right on his thumb where he fumbled a nail from between his fingers. “Shit!” he cried out, dropping his tools and cradling his hand to himself. 

Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at Steve, and he blushed. Looking down at the damage, he saw blood pool in his nail bed. When he raised his head, he saw Eddie rushing over, fresh water bottles and a first aid kit in tow. 

“Shit, Steve, what happened?” Eddie asked as he kneeled down on the steps and got to work, pouring the water over the wound to wash away the stubborn dirt. The red dripped down his hand onto the wood boards below. Steve stared. Eddie’s hat had fallen to the ground and lolled around like an upturned tortoise several feet away. His hair was positively wild and his eyes wilder, riddled with concern. Concern for Steve. 

“Steve, hey, you with me?” Eddie snapped, pulling Steve from his trance as he really started to register the throbbing pain in his thumb. 

“Yes, fuck, I don’t know, I just missed,” he hissed, watching as Eddie worked, sterilizing the broken skin and wrapping it in gauze. His touch was gentle.

“Is it too tight?” he asked, looking to his eyes for validation. Steve shook his head, staring at their joined hands in front of him. 

“Can you bend it?” asked Eddie, his eyes flicking between Steve’s and his thumb.

Steve tried tentatively, twitching it back and forth. It wasn’t broken. 

Eddie stood and sighed with relief–and exasperation. As if a lightswitch was flicked off, Eddie was back to himself as he had been all week; he glared down at Steve’s thumb  with a look of indifference–not meeting his eyes– and said, “Be more careful. Take five. We can’t afford any careless mistakes.” And walked off to view the project drawings again, first aid kit in tow.

Steve cradled his thumb in his other hand, stalking to the ice chest to take another bottle of water before retreating to his tree. He looked back at Gareth and Jeff to catch their looks of sympathy, then quickly turned back to their work. Steve just shook his head to himself, feeling tears sting behind his eyes. He leaned against the trunk, pinching the bridge of his nose with his good hand and blinking them away so they wouldn’t fall.

He watched from afar as Eddie took over Steve’s task, willing himself not to roll his eyes at how much more efficiently he wielded the hammer. It took him two hits to drive the nails home. It pissed Steve off. 

When Steve’s five minutes were up, he returned to his work, starting on another side of the gazebo as Eddie had taken over his previous spot. The next time someone spoke, it was Jeff easing the tension with Eddie and Gareth. Steve remained silent. 

With the late afternoon sun beating on their backs, Eddie finally called it a day. They gathered up their supplies, and headed back to the trucks. Steve was still riding with Jeff who had a grin pasted on his cheeks; he kept bringing up some game night he was going to tonight, but Steve wasn’t really listening. At least he had something to be excited about. Steve was free to go once the truck was in park, and he wasted no time rushing out. Once his things were put away in his locker, he took one little glance down the hallway at the closed door to Eddie’s room and stormed out of the clubhouse without a word. The jokes and laughter of the guys floated behind him from outside as he climbed into his car. He cranked the volume of the radio to drown out his thoughts as he sped home. 

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

“I don’t know, Steve, it doesn’t seem like he overstepped any boundaries. Maybe he’s just not looking for any new friends,” Robin reasoned. She was trying on her fourth pair of earrings in a row as she readied herself for her date with Nancy-from-English-class.

“No, Rob, it was ridiculous. He’s totally lonely living out there, and I thought we got along great last week. I think he might even be, you know, cool,” defended Steve. 

Robin crinkled her eyebrows, looking at him through the reflection of the mirror. “Like you think he’s gay?”

“No! I don’t know, but he knew the bar we went to last week… And maybe hinted at liking Michael Fox? I don’t even know if I’m remembering that right. There’s something else I’m forgetting, too…”

“Maybe he thinks you’re a stalker, coming into his house at night and searching his things,” she said, assessing the small gold hoops.

“I didn’t know it was his house! Besides, if you wouldn’t have brought someone home, I wouldn’t have been there at all.”

“Hey, I didn’t tell you to go there! I didn’t ask you to leave at all,” she threw up her arms. “...But I did appreciate it.” She looked upwards as she blushed.

“No problem. Just go to Nancy’s tonight, okay?” Steve teased, giving up their argument. 

She just smiled in return as she bent to tie her boots’ laces. Steve watched absently with a pang in his heart. On one hand, he was so happy to see her able to freely pursue romances, but he hated to see her go. He was jealous as he knew he had no one else to spend time with. 

He had felt the tension of his anger ease the minute she got home but was disappointed to learn that she had a date tonight. Now, he was watching her walk out the door, bag in hand, waving bye and warning him not to get too wasted without her. So, here he was, alone on a Friday night again, feeling the tightness in his chest grow once more.

Moving over to the couch, he tried to watch some episodes of Golden Girls before his mind wandered. He kept replaying the work week over and over, wondering where he went wrong to end up on Eddie’ bad side again. He did absolutely everything he could. Even Wayne claimed Eddie was praising him. So what the hell? 

On the couch, Steve dozed off into a fitful sleep, exhausted from the day’s work. When he woke, the first thing he noticed was the smell, dirt and metal that wafted up from his skin and clothes. Steve suppressed a shudder as he moved to go take a shower now that Robin wasn’t occupying the bathroom. Despite his attempt to let the water heat, the water was fucking freezing, barely warming enough keep Steve from worrying about catching pneumonia. And maneuvering his body around without wetting his bandaged thumb was a nightmare. Once clean, Steve stared at himself in the mirror, trying to ignore the uneven farmer’s tan he was developing. He looked miserable, debated letting his hair dry naturally and going to bed wet. He sighed, gave in, and brushed the dripping strands back from his face. 

Should he go out? Or keep feeling sorry for himself? Steve no longer knew what to do to make himself feel better. He knew from the clock in the bathroom that it was only 8:30; Robin wouldn’t be back for hours if she’d be back at all tonight. He pushed down the annoyance he felt, pulling out the hair dryer to have something to focus on. 

Twenty minutes later, Steve had dry, styled hair with a stubborn flyaway, and a burn on his ear. It’s as if everything was meant to go wrong today. 

Pulling on a loose tee and jeans, he asked himself why should Eddie affect him so much. Why should he treat Steve differently from the others? It’s fucked. Wayne wanted him on the team, so he was there. He seemed to value Steve’s contribution, so why didn’t Eddie? What changed between them?

The questions itched in Steve's mind as he registered his pacing. He was walking from the window to the front door and back, over and over, ruminating on how to fix this. Should  he have pulled Eddie aside earlier? Is confronting him the answer? As he began to realize he’d have to complain to Eddie about Eddie, dread set in. He was angry now, what if he lost steam over the weekend and ended up not saying anything? He was prone to do that. Steve didn’t want another week like this one. Before he even realized he’d made a decision, Steve had grabbed his keys and was out the door. 

It was ridiculous, there was no guarantee he’d even be home right now. Steve missed his exit three times before he convinced himself to just go. It was nearing 9:30 by the time he arrived at the site, parking behind the two pickup trucks out of sight of the clubhouse. He noticed Gareth and Jeff’s cars were still there, along with a few others. It was dark and he watched as the men stepped out of the trailer, boisterously laughing as they filed in line down the steps. He could see Gareth wrapped in what could only be described as a some sort of cape to Steve’s knowledge. Three people Steve didn’t recognize followed suit, but Steve didn’t care. His eyes were on Eddie as he also stepped out. Even from where Steve was, he could tell he pretended to lock the door behind him, wandering down the steps. He waved to the cars and they left, and faked walking over to the parked van Steve had never seen move. He must be keeping up the ruse that he lived somewhere else; but what the hell were they all even doing here in the first place?

Steve stepped out of the shadows just as Eddie turned back towards his home, unaware of his presence behind him. It was then that Steve noticed his stumbling, unbalanced gait. He heard Eddie giggle to himself as he stepped back inside to the dark trailer, immediately turning the lights back on. 

Regaining his fire from before, Steve stormed up the steps, banging on the front door with the fist of his uninjured hand. “Eddie!” he yelled.

The door reopened, and Eddie looked down on Steve with a single step height difference between them. His eyes were glazed over, but a crinkle formed between his brows as he slowly registered who was in front of him. He stood in a clean pair of jeans, complete with rips at the knees, a white and black tee, and socks. He had showered, his hair was clean and haloed his head with its unruly frizz Steve itched to fix. 

“Oh, goddd,” Eddie groaned. Clearly, he was wasted. 

Eddie let go of the door and wandered to the kitchen where he poured himself a shot of… tequila? He knocked it back, blinked, then looked back to Steve. “You’re still there,” he narrowed his eyes as if he had expected him to disappear.

What the hell was this? He treated Steve like shit all week and excluded him on plans with the other guys? Steve took in the scene around him. Strange dice littered one of the tables in the kitchen along with a notebook and game board. Along with several cans of beer. Steve wasn’t sure he would have said yes to joining, but all rational thought was out the window. 

Stomping up to Eddie, Steve’s steps reverberated in the little trailer. He turned Eddie to face him and grabbed the front of his shirt, ready to demand answers. “What the hell, Eddie? What’s going on with you?”

“Dude, just chill, it’s just a little D&D. You’re not one of those psychos that think it’s devil worship, right?” Eddie slurred out, flicking Steve’s collar, then seemed to think about it. “No, no, couldn’t be,” he pointed his finger in Steve’s chest, “you went to a gay bar… therefore… not a religious bigot!” He made a sound like he was amazed at his own genius. 

“Not the game, dude, why do you fucking hate me all of the sudden? Alienating me at work, excluding me from… whatever this is. Avoiding me. What’s up with that?”

“Ooh, big word, Stevie, nice one,” Eddie smiled as if he couldn’t be bothered by Steve’s fist in his shirt. 

Steve stared. This man couldn’t be reasoned with right now, let alone argued with. He let go of his shirt, and Eddie immediately reached for the bottle again. Steve batted his hand away, “Nope, I think you’ve had enough.” He picked up the bottle to find a cabinet to hide it in. 

Eddie sighed, but didn’t argue. Then, Steve watched in horror as Eddie stuck his tongue into the shot glass he just used to lap up the last remaining drops of his previous shot. His lips nearly wrapped around the rim, his tongue diving further and further into the little glass. He met Steve’s eyes, and smiled around it. A laugh was pulled from Steve that he failed to hide. 

It was embarrassing, but Eddie just laughed along like he was happy to make Steve smile, eventually putting the glass down. 

“Why the hell did the guys leave you like this?” Steve asked in disbelief as he caught his breath. They would have thought Eddie was going to drive home. 

Once Eddie regained his slight composure, he met Steve’s eyes. “They’ve seen me a lot worse,” he admitted. Steve couldn’t see how that was possible in the state he was in. He wasn’t focusing on anything, and was swaying even as he gripped the countertop tightly. Steve realized what he needed to do. 

“Okay, Eddie, well, I’m gonna help you get to bed, alright?” Steve took on the voice he used to use when kids entered the video store back in Hawkins: sweet, light, and wary. He put the tequila in the first cabinet he saw and then moved to Eddie’s side to wrap his arm around his shoulders, leading him back to his bedroom. 

“Mmm, what, now you’re not gonna give me a piece of your mind?” he paused again. “‘Cause I woul’nt mind some.” Whatever Eddie meant caused him to giggle to himself. Leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder they made slow progress to the other side of the trailer. 

Steve didn’t understand what he was saying as his speech worsened (something about zombies?), but Eddie batted his thick eyelashes up at Steve which he chose to ignore. He could hardly handle his sober teasing.

Steve kicked the door open, revealing Eddie’s office/bedroom. With no real desk in sight, there was one twin mattress in the corner, a bookshelf against the wall, a tv on the ground. Steve was surprised to see curtains hung up, and books were strewn everywhere, making it tough to navigate his and Eddie's footwork towards the bed. Nearly tackling him down, Steve dropped Eddie’s weight onto the gray sheets. 

Eddie groaned once he was released, curling in on himself. “Spinnin’,” he said, voice muffled by the pillow in his face. 

Steve ignored him and left to get him water and something to eat. He dug through the cabinets until he found a sleeve of crackers and a glass. When he returned, Eddie was struggling to take off his jeans, one leg caught on his foot. Steve approached to assist. 

“I… don’t,” he huffed, “need your… help.” 

The thought of leaving crossed Steve’s mind, but he decided against it. Someone had to make sure this guy was okay. He waited for Eddie to remove the pants leg himself as Eddie relentlessly kicked, the one leg that was free wildly flailing. When Eddie remained unsuccessful, he turned his face away, pointing his leg to Steve as if the sight of himself asking for help was unbearable. Steve smiled to himself as he set down the water and crackers. 

Steve avoided the sight of Eddie in his boxers, only catching hints of black and red in his periphery. Instead, he felt in front of himself for Eddie's leg and came in contact with his skin as his fingers found his calf. Tiny electric shocks, from the strange, brief contact, then Steve’s hands traveled down to remove the pants leg from around Eddie’s ankle. The room fell quiet as the moment seemed to stretch. It finally sprang free.

Quickly, Steve took a step back, occupying himself by putting the jeans right side out and folding them while Eddie covers himself with a blanket. 

“Stevie,” called Eddie. 

Steve looked down at him, face heating at the nickname as if they were fond of each other, and Eddie reached for him. Taking a tentative step forward, Eddie took a hold of Steve’s thumb, still in the bandage he wrapped earlier that day.

“Y’ gotta change it, dipshit,” Eddie mumbled, followed by a deep exhale, as if speaking took a lot of effort. Gently, he fiddled with the edges coming up where it had gotten wet in the shower. 

“Hey, I’ll have to if you keep doing that,” Steve used his other hand to push Eddie’s off; the softness of Steve’s fingers brushed against his more calloused palms. He swallowed down his nerves of being so close to him and turned back to the nightstand. “Here, drink some water for me, okay?”

“You’re not my mom,” Eddie yawned as he turned over onto his stomach, plopping his face into his pillow. 

“Please?” he tried. 

Only faint “mmfph” in response. 

“Pretty please?”

Nothing.

“Eddie, come on, you’re a mess,” Steve chided.

Eddie’s head twisted around, freeing his mouth from the pillow, suddenly speaking very clearly. “Keep beggin’, Stevie, see what happens.” He barked a loud laugh and fell back on his face. 

Something snapped in him. Steve wasn’t having it. Propping a knee up on the edge of the mattress, he gently tugged on Eddie's hair, close to his scalp, to lift his head back up, guiding his chin gently with his free fingertips, and Steve brought the glass to his lips himself. “Drink,” Steve ordered this time.

After a beat, Eddie complied, finally drinking the water in big, greedy gulps. Hair fell in front of Steve’s face as he gazed downward while Eddie's eyes were turned up, fixated on each other. His eyes glowed in the gold lamp light, intense and defiant. Their eyes held as Eddie swallowed again and again until the glass was empty. Eddie’s curls brushed the thigh of Steve’s pants with the little movements. Steve was struck by a wave of desire and confidence, steeling himself as he boldly leaned down to his ear, lifting Eddie slightly higher as his hand still gripped his hair.

“Good boy,” whispered Steve as his lips gently brushed the curve of Eddie’s ear, quickly pulling back enough to watch the effect cascade over him. Eddie’s eyes closed, and he exhaled through his nose. His already flushed cheeks deepened their shade from pink to red.

Steve was surprised at this version of Eddie, listening to him, flustered by him. 

Blinking out of his haze, Steve let go of Eddie’s head before he could open his eyes again, and it fell right back down onto the pillow. He inhaled as the moment subsided, attempting to slow his heartbeat. Steve grabbed the cracker sleeve off the table and placed it in Eddie’s hands.

“Eat some, Eds,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” 

He murmured a high pitched muffled hum in response. 

Steve rushed to the kitchen to fill up his glass again, drinking some himself to cool down the heavy flush in his face. Where did that come from? 

Okay, maybe they were both attracted to each other. Or Eddie just thought he was cute because he was drunk and Steve picked up on it. But it definitely seemed like Eddie liked guys. And it definitely seemed like Steve liked Eddie based on his current situation downstairs. What did he come here for again? After splashing cold water on his face, he shook off like a dog, not trusting any rags lying around to be clean enough.

When he returned to the bedroom, Eddie laid there on his back, perfectly still, a single cracker clung to his lips, half eaten as his chest rose and fell at a slow, even pace. He had fallen asleep while attempting to eat. Steve was touched that he tried. 

He walked over to place the refilled glass back on the table, picking up the crumbs and cracker from the pillow. Turning Eddie over onto his side in case he got sick, Steve prepared to leave, setting him up with anything else he might need in the night.

Under the threshold of Eddie’s bedroom, Steve paused. His eyes were fixed on the softness of Eddie’s sleeping face. It was a little goofy, his mouth agape, drool already pooling in the corner. Somehow, Steve still blushed as he turned away and switched off the light. 

The man once again found himself walking out of Eddie’s home late at night. Locking the door behind him, Steve thought about how he came here to confront him and only left with–with what? A crush? Was Steve really starting to have feelings for this guy who doesn’t even like him? His boss?

God, could things be any worse?

[moviewarfare]

A Review of “Suzume (2022)”

Makoto Shinkai is one of my favourite animation directors of this generation. The Garden of Words, Your Name and Weather with You were all stellar movies. Of course, I was massively looking forward to Suzume! Does this live up to his previous movies or is this finally a dude in his resume?

Let's get the obvious out of the way first. The animation is still as gorgeous as ever. There are still many beautiful shots that are just jaw-dropping. You can clearly see the amount of detail in drawing and animating many of the scenes. The cinematography is just breathtaking and the otherworldly scenes are just incredibly mesmerizing. Radwimps returns again to collaborate with Makoto on the music score. Radwimps made a terrific upbeat, yet moving soundtrack for the previous 2 movies. In Suzume, he made a more sombre and otherworldly song that is very fitting for the themes explored in this film. It's different but I still love it.

On that note, I enjoyed the themes explored such as coming to terms with loss and building new relationships. The main character, Suzume, begins her journey by meeting a man named Souta and gets pulled into a supernatural world. She then goes on a journey, meeting new people and building more friendships. It is genuinely heartwarming and results in a very terrific 3rd act. The final act is so impactful and has a powerful, emotional resolution that can definitely tug at people's heartstrings. Suzume is such an endearing main character. You do wonder why she puts herself in danger so much but as you learn more and more about her, you end up supporting her a lot and hoping she succeeds. The support characters are all charming as well, even with their short screen time.

A problem I had with the previous movie, Weathering with You, was how it felt too similar in structure to Your Name. Unfortunately, Suzume is still the same. We still get a boy and girl who get brought into a supernatural event in the first act, the second act with an increase in supernatural and a revelation, and a final act dealing with this revelation and its consequences. It results in the film being incredibly predictable. One element this film does do worse though is the romance aspect. Suzume and Souta's romantic chemistry just isn't as strong. There is a lack of romantic moments between them and it is made more difficult to believe when Souta is mostly a chair. Honestly, the movie would have been better if the romance aspect was removed.

The movie can be a bit repetitive for the first half of the story by repeatedly having the characters search for an evil cat, get taken in by strangers, see a worm in sky, find a door, face a challenge and then close the door. It also does have pacing issues with some of the road trips being a bit too long, especially one near the end of the second act. It detracts attention from the main plot and slows the film down. While this film is mostly beautiful, it does use CG a lot more than before. For example, the worm entity is entirely 3D. The CG would be fine if it blended well with the 2D animation. The problem is that the 2D looks amazing and the 3D looks cheap causing this jarring visual at times.

Overall, Suzume is still a wonderful film from Makoto. The themes that are explored will definitely be more appreciated by Japanese audiences than by westerns but the emotional conclusion will still hit hard nonetheless. I don't enjoy this as much as his previous movies but I still enjoyed it a lot. I will still 100% see his next project but I do hope it tries to be a lot more different this time.

For more reviews like this visit:

https://moviewarfarereviews.blogspot.com/

[solardick]

The emperor

CHARLES THE GREAT EMPEROR

The King is victorious in the Lord; and in the mercy of the Most High he will not be moved.

Thais is because the emperor is sided with the pope.

In waite’s version the emperor which was typically drawn in profile suggested a state of indifference. Its back facing the pope and it’s front facing the Empress, was drawn facing the querent. I separated the eye contact. Into its own being and gave the emperor back his profile.

Probably the worst card in the deck.

I wanted to add vision, and dominion, to responsibilities into the deck. The card, odd if it’s profiled. And not direct, and political. As the masculine doesn’t sidetrack. Though these responsibilties of state and structure need attending. This may be replaced by the infinity card. As the emperor here serves to the land. Materially, politically, financially… as long as it sustains and governizes world structure. For the emperor may also serve here in the personal when robes comes off and it’s dragon has say. The dragon here is more likely in power in various forms of warcraft Or dealings with the physical world itself. Involving all the “ally”’s. Easier to corrupt.

At any rate i don’t think its even possible to get a better card image than that. The emperor staring off into the sun. The eagle surveying the land.

And they keep talking about the girl. They want my attention on her…. Ugh. Ok. Ill give you guys something. She has a sweet little virgin mothers body and id tap that. So hard. Apparently they leaving soon or somesuch. But there’s zero dialogue. I learn nothing. And the youngness doesnt bode well for a relationship, Thats what i see in her. A mother to be. Its not everyday i see a girl that i would like to sleep with. The first one in a good long while. Oh well, i just avoid her now. I tried being social, didn’t work. Bye. Too bad we didn’t work the job together. It would have turned out different. And we’d be more open and sociable together. But, to separate it from sex. Because, that isn’t my disposition. From day one. When she first saw me. There was/is something in the way i am that draws her attention to me. Truth? Ruse? At first, i didn’t pay it heed. Cause, it’s my first day and I’m here to get “oriented”. But after awhile, and the way she acted around me. Playing the dumb broad. Puyting her ass in the air. The purposeful avoidance of eye contact. Is where i started to worry. Oh, and the day she flirted with her co-worker while looking back at me and smiling.

Later on, after the avoidance, it was slow. And i liked watching the production line at work. Get a feel for how it work, for something different to see. The people on the lines, movement, all that. One of the days i did this, she was working at the far end. The build up of blocked energy, the constant listening to others talk about her or at the least mention her. Joined in on the guy talk, anyway, a chancr to see how she moves when im not around. I liked ehat i saw, she’s a good competent worker. Then she turns her head, and locked on to me. I don’t pause, and then she turns around faving aeay from her line. I stay gor a second longer, drum a tap on the skid and go do whatever task. At the end of the shoft she then has it arranged to walk around the corner as im leaving and stares me down. Any appraoch of be social was kept to pre-set no’s. And still avoidance of eye contact. (And yet, always looking my way, if i dont at the same time. I see it in my periphery. I tried a bit longer here and there. Social, flicked for a second. But that was all. So now, i don’t know what, involved with fucken with me? Young, dumb and, naive? Working out frustration? Conveniently being in certain places at certain times. Ok, im done bye.

Don’t ruin my Emperor with your bullshit. It’s like the only good masculine card in the deck.

It’s like one guy surrounded by women, and connected to destruction, loss and solitude. If there was ever a more potent feminist elitist tool out there bound on taking out the king. It’s bot very user friendly.

But the cards are still fun to play with. The searching and puzzling. And i yet couldn’t get in to it. Because wtf is this crap? So i started fiddling with it. Connected dots. And then one day i sat down pulled out the cards to the typewritter layout. And placed each one of the added cards into spot. Just like that. And i kept them like that since. Switching the U and I cards a chose. Because it just made more sense that way.

This of course happened each time i unraveled something else. The high priestess card. She’ll pull out all you need from your memory. Being, a feminine “water” card. (At the time) means that the information isn’t logistic. Its more of a feeling based intuition. Which is why i think she should be kept. But my goal here is to make the deck a little more masculine friendly. In a way that doesn’t dramatically alter what’s known to it. For this causes backlash. Take away a Childs pacifier. Candy from a. Baby and all that. And people will start acting even dumber than im capable of.

Here we want you to wear thise light weight comfortable gloves so you dont cut and scratch her hands, which we need from you. And people start bitching and complaining. And im like. F@$&en’ pussies. Everybody wins. You dont het hurt, your taken care of and production isnt halted. This connects back to the wheel card and industrial production. The “hey ho, let’s go” mentality which is a requirement.

Think i got permanent lung damage scaring for a Christmas present this year.

And it doesnt matter. What one does with the cards. When changing images or modifying the deck. It doesnt matter. On the larger scale of things. It will have no impact in the environment. For no one else will have it. It cant travel. Self closed route. Only if it’s distributed. Then whether anyone knows about it it will get into circulation. But at first keep the circle closed. A close net, network. If it’s alive. It can grow. And now the author has it’s own “paradise”. And that influence eventually grows into the populace. Shaping reality.

Oh the grandeur! The judgement is good.

As you can see. I had little choice in the matter the strength card had to go. It works fantastically, on the political constitution. As of a few of major civilization have the national day on one if not both strength and justice cards. I had to go to astrology to find the connection for austrailia.

As in the american fealty of oath thing they do or used to do everyday before class. That’s a strength justice layout. So it really doesn’t matter if it’s classical strength as violence or strength as harmony. Because in this context it’s plainly visible. Conditional programming. Neither of them though say nothing about fortitude. The tower certainly doesn’t. Neither does the emperor. Wearing armour. Fortitude is a defensive name. Violent strength, under the guise of fortitude speaks its own message. Naw, its pressure from the world. One which one may easily shoulder if what it is serves another purpose of raising it higher. To elevate. That. That is golden.

The emperor isn’t as alone anymore.

As it turns out, the new fortitude card, is still connected to the strength card for harmony. For it is connected to the world card and comes back to the fortitude card by letter. So now the fortitude card shows the masculine elevating his woman. Supporting for her as much of the world as he can.

Or it will show oppression, guilt, shame, depression, debt or anything else that weighs on one’s conscience and spirit. It shows the unwielding. The unfolding against pressures of state. And this brings this card to a Saturn.

Vagina.

Looks better card size. The card for infinity. The dragon here serving in the realm of heaven. Is born of the strength card and of the magician card. One two three. The father, the mother, and the holy child. The number eight when not taken as two separate O’s. One way to look at look at it. The magician is a tricky card when considering layering cards and the various depiction of it. None are wrong in the sense that the sum collective answer is always very near the exact question. As above so below

Or as below so above. Which seems just as accurate. Power of manifestation. Which may just as easily be born not knowing what. The A fool, covering its eyes. As is the ace of the minor arcana without form or knowledge. It’s there. It’s started but it’s isn’t there yet. Though the dragon comes before all this. And would actively sort be god. Or the angel on charge of overseeing opérations. And yet also serves as the masculine principle. The instinctual drive. It can serve as any other card. And be found onto every other card as the fool is suggested to be in the tarot. I’m tired so pardon my sloppyness.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 12 - Bad Surprise [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Sometimes plans have to change.

Series Masterlist

Every job required something from people, and your job was no different.

Being a spy was not a conventional profession, everyone knew that. You were expected to be on the move all the time, be a good liar, be a good fighter, be whatever the job told you to.

And most important of all; never show fear, which you were usually fine with. You had learned long ago how to keep your calm in times of crisis. You had even managed to keep your calm facade when your last mission required you to play Russian Roulette with a target in order to keep your cover.

But this? This was something else.

Bucky cleared his throat to stifle a laugh as he looked down at you.

“Is it just me or are you using me as a human shield against a peacock right now?”

Your eyes snapped up at his for a moment before you turned your gaze to the peacock again, taking a subtle step to Bucky’s right to keep him between you and the animal.

Coming to the zoo was his idea, and you thought it could be a fun experience. You had never been to a zoo before, and it would count as one of the old times dates, so you were almost giggly by the time you got there.

Right until now.

“I think peacocks don’t have souls.”

“Alright.” Bucky sipped his coffee while you tried to ignore the fear bubbling at the pit of your stomach, eyeing the peacock that walked around the area behind the fences.

“I’m serious,” you insisted “What if it attacks me?”

“It’s not going to attack you Y/N.”

“It could,” you said, “It looks like it wants to attack me.”

The peacock fanned out its feathers all of a sudden and let out a squawk, making you jump out of your skin.

“Fuck!” the curse left your lips and Bucky’s eyebrows rose, an amused grin pulling at his lips.

“Sorry!” you said quickly, “Sorry, I…I don’t trust peacocks.”

“You got mugged in a dark alley and got shot, and a bird is where you draw the line?”

Correction, you were once held at gunpoint by the Italian mafia and peacocks were still where you drew the line.

“That’s not a bird.”

“….Peacocks are birds.”

“No, that’s the devil looking like a bird,” you said, “In-in bird shape. Bird shaped demon.”

“Okay, how about we see some other less threatening animal?”

“Let me check—oh my God Bucky they have sharks, I love sharks!” you said, waving the brochure in his face and he pulled his brows together.

“Sharks fall under the less threatening animal category?”

“Of course they do!” you said, looking at the brochure before looking around, “I think the aquarium is over there, let’s go.”

You grabbed his hand to entwine your fingers with his as you both started walking towards the huge blue structure.

“So I feel like I shouldn’t ask because I know you can’t exactly tell me the details,” you said, “But you’re not going on another mission soon, are you? This week?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, “Why?”

“I’m kind of planning something.”

He tilted his head, “What are you planning?”

“Not a club, relax.” you said, “Although I find it quite ironic that you’re this unstoppable brave superhero with super strength who gets intimidated by dancing.”

“I’m not intimidated…” he grumbled under his breath, making you giggle.

“Whatever you say,” you sang, and reached the entrance of the huge building and you pulled your hand out of his.

“Excuse me sir, is the aquarium still open?” you asked the security guard by the door and a small smirk appeared on his lips.

“Yes but it is closing in ten minutes sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?

Jesus Christ….

You smiled politely at him, batting your lashes.

“Oh—“ you took a look at the sign, “I just want to see the killer shark and we’ll be out. In five minutes. Please?”

He eyed you up and down but seemed to snap out of it when Bucky cleared his throat behind you as if warning him, making the guy gawk between you two.

Even you had to admit you seemed like a quite unusual couple. You were wearing a short white sundress with ruffled sleeves and sweetheart neckline with your hair loose while Bucky looked as if he was there to kill someone, a complete opposite of you with his dark jeans and black leather jacket as well as leather gloves.

You didn’t even have to turn your head to know that he was glaring at the guard before the guy shifted his weight, then stepped aside.

“Enjoy.”

“Thank you!” you said, grabbing Bucky’s hand as you led him inside. He followed you without any objections whatsoever, in complete silence as the sight of blue filled your vision along with many fish swimming behind the glass.

“You don’t even see it, do you?” he asked softly and you pulled your brows together.

“Hm?”

“Does anyone ever say no to you?”

You approached the label by the glass, “You do.”

“Do I?”

“All the time,” you nodded, still reading the label but your head shot up when you felt him tug you by the hand. A giggle escaped from your lips as he turned you around so that you could look up at him, then wrapped his arm around you to scoop you up, making you squeal.

“Bucky!”

“All the time?”

“Put me down!” you said, your laughter echoing in the empty aquarium halls and he tilted his head.

“Not until you explain yourself,” he teased you, “All the time?”

“Sometimes, sometimes!” you said quickly, “Very rare times I might add!”

“Mm hm, I thought so.”

“If you drop me, I swear to God—“ you started but was cut off when he pulled you into a kiss, making you wrap your arms around his neck. He took a step with you still in his embrace and you gasped as you felt your back hit the thick glass, but every single protest you could think of seemed to disappear from your mind as you lost yourself in the kiss. You raked your fingernails over the nape of his neck, making his grip around you tighter-

Then someone coughed.

Bucky pulled back instantly and you turned your head to see another rather annoyed technician leaning on her hip, watching you with her brows raised.

“Aquarium is about to close,” she said, pointing at you, “Take it elsewhere.”

Bucky put you down and you tried to fix the skirt of your dress, trying to look presentable.

“Sorry!” you said as Bucky mumbled an apology beside you as well, and the technician shook her head and walked away, talking about how she wasn’t getting paid enough for this. You covered your face and let out a whine but Bucky chuckled, causing you to lower your hands to stare up at him.

“Why is this entertaining for you?” you exclaimed and he held your wrist, gently steering you to the exit.

“Come on.”

“We can never come here again, ever.” you insisted as you followed him outside. It didn’t escape your notice that he bumped his shoulder into the security guard’s quite hard, almost knocking him over on your way out and your jaw dropped.

“That was mean!”

“Nah, he had it coming. Are you hungry?”

“But you could get in trouble. Besides, he was a nice guy—“

“Uh huh, a nice guy who was ogling you.”

You pulled your brows together, pretending to be confused, “Oh I’m sure you misunderstood.”

He tilted his head and pulled you closer to wrap his arm around your waist, then brushed his lips against yours, making you sigh.

“Bucky, it was mean and you can’t just kiss me to distract me—”

“I can try,” he murmured to your lips before kissing you again and you looked up at him when he pulled back with a grin.

“Fine,” you admitted, still pouting. “I’m hungry. Starving actually, let’s eat something.”

                                                    ***

You were finding it harder and harder to convince yourself it was time to go home after every date with Bucky.

Scratch that, you were finding it harder and harder not to invite him upstairs.

But of course, you would have to report it back to the General and discuss the further strategies with him and for some reason, it felt more of a betrayal than this whole thing.

Surprisingly enough, it was something you wanted and not something you would will yourself to do because of the mission. There was no denying it, he was an attractive guy and you really liked spending time with him and you kept having dreams about him and whenever you were with him you had this lightness in your mind, as if you were a different person.

A better person, maybe.

You shook your head at your thoughts and left your apartment to knock on Keith’s door.

“It’s me, open up.”

You heard footsteps before he opened the door and a boyish smile pulled at his lips at the sight of milkshakes in your hand.

“Jesus, finally!”

“I made it at home, can’t promise it’s good,” you said as you walked past him into his apartment and stepped into the living room, “What are you watching?”

“James Bond,” he grinned at you, “Hey, have you ever tried milkshake with gin?”

“No?”

“Me neither, let’s try it.” He said, taking the big glasses from you to pour gin into them. You sat on the couch and took a look at the screen.

“How many times have you watched this again?”

“Like a hundred,” he handed you your glass and you took a sip.

“Not bad,” you commented, putting your feet up on the coffee table. He sat beside you, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“What did you do today?”

“Had a date.”

“With Barnes?”

“Yeah. At the zoo.”

“He took you to the zoo?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And peacocks are fucking scary,” you muttered, “And hey, we learned that Bucky is the jealous type.”

“The guy was dating people back at 40s, I could tell you that much myself.” He snorted, “Chloe says you went on a mission with Julian?”

You slipped a little on the couch, “He’s an asshole.”

“I know. Is he really that bad in bed?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Nah as much as I hate to admit, he’s pretty good. Unfortunately.”

“So top or bottom?”

“He goes either way to be honest, that comment was more about me.”

“About you?”

“Yeah, I like to be on top.”

“Suddenly everything about you makes sense,” he murmured and you took another sip of your milkshake.  

“Don’t try that with Barnes though, the guy is from 1940s. He’s probably used to missionary only, you don’t want to give him a heart attack,” he wiggled his brows, making you scoff.

“Shut up.”

“Chloe is right, maybe you should go full on vintage on that when the time comes.”

You turned to look at him.

“Speaking of Chloe,” you said, “Anything you would like to tell me?”

Keith’s grin faded slightly and he shifted his weight, “Like what?”

“Bringing her coffee, taking her out to the field…” you trailed off, “What gives, man? I thought we had a deal.”

“We never had a deal,” he defended himself, “You slammed me back during training years ago at the academy and told me not to even think about it when you saw me looking at her.”

“No,” you shook your head, “Five years ago, in Ireland. That undercover job, the one that almost got you killed? We made a deal.”

He swallowed thickly, looking down at the milkshake before taking a sip. “Y/N…”

“Keith, you can’t,” you insisted, “She deserves a normal life, a normal family and kids and a dog and stuff.”

“I know,” he ran a hand over his face, “I know.”

“Then?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re a spy,” you said, “You said it yourself, spies die like flies.”

“Not all of them,” he said, “General is still alive. He has a family.”

“Yeah, one in a hundred,” you said, “Face it. That’s a very low possibility for us.”

“You don’t think you’ll get to grow old and have a family and all that?”

You pulled your brows together.

“No,” you said, “Of course not. I’m probably going to die in one of these missions.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Keith, I can’t have any of those,” you said, “I can’t. I…it’s impossible.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you muttered, “I made my choice ages ago.”

“Y/N,” he sat up straighter, “Do you want to?”

With a very bad timing, your imagination went overdrive and a strange scene flashed before your eyes. You laughing in Bucky’s arms, watching two kids playing in the garden-

You shook your head, trying to shake off the thoughts.

“I could never have that,” you stated simply, “You might love Chloe and you might also be lucky enough to have her love you but…it’s not the same with me.”

“I’d say Barnes loves you.”

A bitter smile pulled at your lips and you bit inside your cheek, taking another sip of your milkshake.

“He loves someone who doesn’t exist,” you managed to croak out, “He loves my cover. He could never love me.”

                                                           ***

Spending the night at Keith’s and drowning your sorrows in gin and milkshake meant that you would have a killer hangover the next day. Unlike Keith, you didn’t have the luxury to sleep until the noon, seeing that you had a cover job to keep so for the whole day until noon, you walked around like a zombie.

Coffee helped though. Just a little.

Thankfully it was a slow day at the shop. After serving a couple of people, you had nothing to do other than seriously considering sticking your head in the freezer to get rid of the hangover.

“Long night?” Tara asked as she walked past you to put the straws into the cup and you nodded, groaning.

“Remind me not to drink, ever.”

“I make that promise to myself every Monday, does not seem to work.”

You chuckled, “Have you ever tried to mix gin into milkshakes?”

“No?”

“Don’t,” you shook your head as you helped her to move an empty milkshake container into the kitchen. “It’s a terrible idea and I’m experiencing the consequences of that mistake right now.”

“That sounds like a fun night though.”

“Fun night, terrible morning,” you let out a laugh as you walked out of the kitchen but as soon as you did, your eyes caught the sight of the man in the shop. Your smile was wiped off your face as the familiar anger filled your system.

Jesus Christ, this day sucks.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked and Julian had the audacity to shoot you a grin.

“Whoa cute outfit,” he said, eyeing you up and down, “Holy shit I didn’t even know I was into this whole thing, I’m having an epiphany.”

You looked over your shoulder to see if Tara was still in the kitchen, then turned to Julian.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was craving milkshakes,” he stated, “Hey, would you recommend Lavender Macaron?”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“I think I’m gonna go with Lavender Macaron, makes me think of France,” he said, “Fun times.”

“Fun for you maybe.”

He shot you a look, “Come on Y/N, we didn’t leave the honeymoon suite for two days. That was the greatest-“ he lowered his voice, “Mission I’ve ever had.”

“You’re putting this entire operation in—“ you started but stopped talking as soon as Tara walked out of the kitchen. Julian raised his brows for a moment before smiling at her and you went under the counter to grab his arm.

“Y/N, is everything okay?”

“Just peachy,” you said as you dragged him out of the shop, and he heaved a sigh, following you.

“No I’m serious…” he said with a chuckle as soon as you both stepped outside, then motioned at the uniform, “This is something else.”

“Why are you here?”

“I heard that it was good, I did not think it was this good.”

“I’m seriously two seconds away from punching you.”

“How come you never dressed up like this for me when we were dating?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you insisted and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I was around.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Believe whatever you want,” he said, “Your shop has good rating, although I’m beginning to believe it has less to do with milkshakes and more about the waitresses.”

“Julian I swear to God—“ you started but you were cut off when someone cleared his throat, making both you and Julian turn your heads. Your stomach dropped as soon as you saw Bucky watching you two with a frown and you withdrew your hand from Julian’s arm.

“Bucky,” you breathed out, “Um-hi.”

“Hi,” he said without taking his eyes off Julian, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

He was trying to decide whether he was a threat to you.

“I didn’t…I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I figured I could drop by,” he said, crossing his arms, “What’s going on?”

Fuck.

Fuck, you had no idea how to turn this around. Thankfully neither of you had said anything about the mission, so it was more than likely that Bucky just knew you knew each other, but other than that, your cover wasn’t blown.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, he’s just—“ you stammered, trying to come up with an explanation, “He’s um—“  

“Oh come on Y/N, don’t be one of those secretive people,” Julian said, “You hate secrets. You’re Bucky, right? I heard about you.”

Bucky just raised his brows, his glare on him unwavering but even if it was quite chilling, Julian was a trained assassin just like you were, so he was used to it. Instead he curled his lips, looking between you before offering him his hand.

“I’m Julian,” he introduced himself, shooting you a grin as if you two shared an inside joke “The evil ex-boyfriend who’s gonna take her from you.”

Chapter 13

[flickeringart]

Minor aspects

While the nature of the major aspects in astrology is quite straightforward and has been covered more than sufficiently, there’s still a lot of fog surrounding the nature of the minor ones. There are a lot of minor aspects that can be taken into consideration when interpreting a chart… however, since they are labeled minor they won’t be as obvious and much more difficult to spot in one’s own life. Note that this doesn't mean that they aren't impactful. There’s a lot of speculation and vague terms used when describing them. It seems that every minor aspect is said to have a “spiritual/creative dimension” as if that is supposed to clear up any of the mystery surrounding them. Perhaps, on one level, we don’t want to pin them down too much because certainty is the enemy of exploration. Or perhaps it’s the case that the aspects themselves don’t want to be pinned down? There’s an appeal in keeping certain things mysterious in our lives, to avoid defining and putting rigid labels on phenomena. It makes life alive and beautiful. Many people dismiss astrology is because they are afraid that they’re going to be reduced to a set of characteristics and have their personality mapped up to the point of being able to predict and foresee patterns of behavior and fated themes. The fear of knowledge is not irrational; it is probably healthy to an extent. Knowing too much can be dangerous and rob life of its magic. “Curiosity killed the cat”, as the saying goes. However, this is not the whole truth because curiosity also leads to expansion and better understanding, so let’s not be afraid to concretize these aspects, it's not the same as "killing" their potential. Life is never completely in our hands anyway, there's no risk of knowing it all.

Quintile (72°)/Bi-quintile (144°)

These aspects are said to have something to do with individual style and quality of creative work. It is suggested that these aspects say something about a mental-creative process of imposing one’s mind on a particular subject. It is also linked to talent and gifts the individual would possess that have not been actively learned. Basically, it seems to be indicative of the particular way a person would approach a subject. For example, the quintile would not describe the activity itself - the activity could be painting, knitting, running, cleaning or whatever – the quintile/bi-quintile would point to the way the person approaches the activity.

For example, Ted Bundy (whose chart I’ve explored a bit here), has Neptune bi-quintile the MC. Neptune, being the planet of illusion hints to Bundy’s quality of being a chameleon, deceiving the public as part of his personal style.

Prince Harry, (whose chart I’ve touched upon before), has his Moon bi-quintile Neptune. The Moon can be indicative of the mother figure, and his mother Princess Diana certainly had an elusive style and charm that was a bit deceptive and seductive. Of course, he would have the same thing going in his own life but it would perhaps be difficult for us to spot. He also has Moon quintile Venus and he definitely has a style/quality of emotional-physical comfort. He has Pluto quintile the AC, which would point to a style of showing up in the world that is powerful and intense. He has a tendency to come off as destructive and chaotic at times. There’s also a quintile aspect forming between Mercury in the 8th house and the MC which would hint to a public image that is colored by the “taboo” things he has said about his family in the recent present, but also in the past. He’s a public image that is aligning with the style of the playful amoral trickster.

As I’m going with charts I’ve already explored, let’s look at the quintiles in Meghan Markle’s chart. Her Venus is quintile Uranus and it perfectly describes her style of “wokeism”, that is, appearing to be objective and intelligent about feelings and affective values. She has a style of being “the loving humanitarian”. Whether she is this way in an actual sense is debatable. The quintile aspect is describing the quality and style not the actuality. But, it is disturbingly close to reality that it somehow becomes reality. It’s like the actor who adopts another energy signature in order to portray a different person. It doesn’t really matter if a person is rotten at the core - if he has a loving way of being, what difference does it make? The style is real enough to not reflect and give the impression of love.

Semi-square (45°) / Sesquiquadrate (135°)

These aspects are said to precipitate events. The nature of these two aspects is more immediate than the square aspect (which causes tension and doubt and needs constant navigation). The conflict represented is usually unconscious and is therefore not easy to identify. However, as these conflicts tend to manifest quite abruptly, we can take a look at the concrete problems the person faces. The planets connected by a semi-square/sesquiquadrate aspect will be in conflict but force some kind of release (that may result in an accident because of it’s autonomous/unconscious function).

I have Saturn sesquiquadrate my Moon. Since I tend to unconsciously block my emotional responses, the pressure builds and I am “forced” to get out of a situation, “forced to listen to my emotions”. I have encountered the theory that the sesquiquadrate in particular is manifesting as something that is looked down upon societally. This would make sense considering the aspect forces a breakout of one of the planets and nothing that is immediate and abrupt is ever favorably looked upon when it comes to social-societal structure and predictability. I have been meaning to take on commitments that would further my status in society in terms of formal education (Saturn in the 9th conjunct the MC) but I have not been able to do it without considerable decline in my emotional well-being. So, I have been “thrown out” by unconscious forces every time I’ve tried.

My sister has her Venus sesquiquadrate Saturn. She’s known for her deliberate and strategic way of dressing. She plans her outfits carefully, there’s nothing haphazard about the way she presents herself. However, she has Lilith conjunct Venus so she can push the limits and simply do what she pleases sometimes as well when the pressure of Saturn becomes too much. But, this often causes external judgment. A relative of mine has her Sun semi-square Venus. I can tell that she’s highly aware of her appearance. She is very pretty but there’s always something that is a bit off between what she wears and her self-expression. It’s like it doesn’t quite fit and it’s irritating.

To get back to the celebrities, Meghan Markle has Neptune sesquiquadrate Mercury. Is it possible that this forces distortion and vagueness in opinion and communication? It would certainly fit the bill. She also has Uranus sesquiquadrate Mars. She simply has to “break out of her confining situations”, cut people out of her life and move on in her own way. Uranus is also sesquiquadrate her MC, which seems to point to her unconscious pull to “do what she wants to do” at the detriment of her public image and reputation. Notably, Uranus sits in her 5th house of personal enjoyment and creation.

Prince Harry has a semi-square between Mars and Pluto. When he is angry it blossoms into rage and he can’t see straight. It has gotten him into quite a lot of trouble and societal-social disapproval. It seems that this is a common theme with the sesquiquadrate and semi-square. He also has his Moon sesquiquadrate Jupiter. Isn’t it the case that he tends to indulge in a way that makes him look bad in society?

Quincunx (150°)

This aspect is typically found between planets incompatible by element and mode. Basically, they have nothing in common and have a hard time cooperating, which will cause minor stress in the individual because of necessity to work around the incompatibilities. The planets are not in direct conflict but they are uncomfortable with each other.

For example, I have my Moon quincunx Mercury. Every time I sit down to write I’m mildly disturbed by little things like an aching back, a headache, restless legs or whatever. It’s not very comfortable for me but I can still keep with it, however it might take a toll on me health wise. The quincunx has been related to health issues because of the mild stress that it causes. It is manageable and one is usually able to cope with the stress, but it’s not very pleasant. Because it is not as demanding as more disturbing conflicts in one’s life, it’s in the background causing irritation.

Meghan Markle’s Venus makes a quincunx aspect to her MC. This suggests that she has a hard time reflecting her value on a public level, it’s as if how she’s perceived publicly disturbs her sense of ease and comfort. She has an Aries MC with a Virgo Venus and she’s continuously depicted as a bully these days, as some kind a selfish and aggressive bitch (the more negative attributes of Aries). This must be undermining her self-worth immensely, however, it’s perhaps too minor of a problem to do anything about. It is still there nonetheless, harping on in the background, breaking her down and causing slow disintegration…

Semi-sextile (30°)

Planets forming semi-sextile aspects are said to be able to aid each other, to have a better connection than if they had no link at all. Usually one planet is in the sign that comes before the sign of the other; in other words, a semi-sextile might be forming between Mars in Aries and Venus in Taurus. The semi-sextile usually connects consecutive sign like this, but planets could be in semi-sextile in the same sign, like Mars in 0° Taurus semi-sextile Venus in 30° Taurus. In any case, the planet placed at an earlier degree or in the earlier sign can draw on qualities of the planet in the later degree or the later sign and vice versa. For example, Prince Harry’s Venus in Libra is semi-sextile his MC. He can draw on his sense of harmony a diplomacy to benefit his public image. His Mars in Sagittarius is also semi-sextile his MC, which makes it so that he can draw from his Martial qualities of energy and action to influence his career and success.

Parallel/Contra-parallel

These are called aspects in declination because they are measured by latitude and not by longitude. This essentially means that two planetary bodies can aspect each other in a certain way measuring the distance between them north-south of the celestial equator. Two planets at the same degree north and south of the equator form a parallel aspect and can be interpreted the same as a conjunction (some say that it's more obscure like a quincunx/semi-square). Two planets opposite each other north and south form a contra-parallel aspect and can be interpreted as an opposition (some say that it's basically the same as the parallel though).

I have found, looking at my own chart that these aspects only confirms already existing aspects measured by longitude or it confirms the sign that a specific angle is in. For example, my MC is in Aries and it is also parallel Mars. Mars is the ruler of Aries so it emphasizes my already martial MC. My Sun is conjunct Saturn and it’s also parallel Saturn. My sister has a Scorpio MC and it’s also parallel Pluto, the natural ruler of Scorpio. For example, my sister has a wide Moon-Mars conjunction (6°) but they are also in contra-parallel. How is this supposed to be interpreted? I would simply see it as Moon-Mars is connected strongly despite the orb being a little wide with the conjunction.

However, it’s not always the case that parallel and contra-parallel aspects only confirms already existing influences. They can also add themes and connections. My sister doesn’t have any longitude aspects between Saturn and Uranus but they are contra-parallel to each other.

Septile (51.43° - a 1/7 of the 360°)

It is said to indicate a hidden flow of energy between the planets involved, an inner sensitivity to the spiritual dimension of the planets. Another description I have come across is that the planets “darkly interact” and there’s an occult theme surrounding the connection.

I have Venus septile Jupiter in my own chart. Going by the said method of interpretation, it would mean that I have sensitivity to the hidden wealth and underlying beauty and abundance in life. I think it is quite accurate.

Novile (40° - 1/9 of the 360°)

Is said to be describing a contact of perfection/idealization. It also seems to have something to do with spiritual awakening and growth, lack of fear and freedom.

Having Sun novile Saturn for example could be interpreted as a feeling of communion with the world and life itself through responsibility and the control one can exercise through self-expression.

----

There are of course other minor aspects to explore, but I'll stop here for now.

[brownandblackpearls]

🦇𝒯he  𝒱isitor (Alucard Tepes x BlackReader)

 PART 1 SUMMARY:

While trying to escape the clutches of criminals and cutthroats, you stumble across a castle beyond imagination. The corpses staked at the front aren’t enough to keep you out. But after entering, you begin to wonder what you got yourself into, and what the castle is hiding within its walls...

─── Alucard x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── TW// slight gore, general mentions of rapists// Fantasy, vampires, hurt/comfort, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, magic user, cute bats, gardening, cooking, cottagecore MC, castlecore Alucard.

☾ next.

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You fight through the underbrush of the woods, hurrying as quickly as your feet will allow.

They’re on your trail.

You’ve been evading these criminals from the last town you’d passed through, but they just keep stalking after you. They’d been all too eager to see a lone, beautiful woman traveling with no companions, no guides, and no guardians. 

They had tried and failed to corner you alone several times in the town and on the roads, but you haven’t made it this far on your own without some learned skills. A finger-bolt of lightning at one’s eye, a fire-heated palm tight on another’s wrist, swings of sharp dagger at all of their torsos, their throats. 

Anything and everything to escape. It’s not your first sticky situation, and it probably won’t be your last.

You know how to be quiet. How to hide. And when it comes down to it, you know how to swindle and how to fight, if need be. You try not to resort to that, not out of compassion or concern for the heathens that try to best you...no. You just know that you’re not as skilled as some of the rigorously trained ex-militia and rogue bandits that prey on loners in towns and off the roads.

You don’t know exactly what they want. A woman to toss around between themselves and torture before they descend on you like wolves? A new girl to sell on the black market? A pretty decoy to get carts and wagons to stop on the roads, allowing them to abush, raid, rape and kill as they please?

Whatever it is that they want, you’re not giving it to them.

‘They’ll have to catch me, first.’

You duck and dodge branches, bobbing and weaving through the trees before the forest finally begins to clear. You keep your hand on your dagger’s hilt, just in case.

Who knows what hides in the woods?

Finally, you come to a clearing run through by a small creek. The dense woods have seemed to disperse here, and now all that you can spy are peaceful glens and swaying flowers. Deer jump away through the grass, hares run into their holes, and fish shine from the stream. 

It feels…safe.

But you’re not one to be foolish, and so you continue on. Hoisting your basket closer, you can’t help but spy a garden as you pass through the glen.

Fat tomatoes hang on vine, bright orange carrot tops sprout from the soil, green onions, zucchini, berries and fruits….

…Someone has made a garden here. Hopefully if they’re the gardening sort, then they’re the safe sort. You quickly fill your basket with a few items, tuck some coins hidden near the stalks in apology for your ransacking, and carry on.

Finally, the glen ends, the forest stops entirely, and you stumble upon something entirely unexpected.

'A castle...? Out here in the middle of nowhere...?’

A grand, gothic castle of castles, spirals up towards the clouds in the sky. You gaze up at it in awe, sure that there is nothing else in the world quite so large or so spectacular. You’re certain that had the woods not been so oppressive and thick on the way in here, so wide and strenuous, that you would’ve spotted the castle for what it was miles and miles and miles ago.

You whistle low, impressed as you step forward. You take only a few steps before you stop.

A ripple in the wind draws your eye.

Two barely clothed bodies impaled on stakes tower before you, death etched onto their faces. The spikes go through them, hidden by the soiled shifts they wear and rising high up and out through their mouths. It is a grisly sight indeed.  Unfortunately, you’re no stranger to ‘grisly’ in these lands.

You move slower, more carefully than before.

Assessing the bodies, the blood is long dried on the stakes and the petrified flesh. Most of the meat is gone, pecked away by crows most likely, and the flesh that remains is hard and dried out. 

You have dealt with your fair share of monsters, but you’re not too sure you want to risk running into the one who did this. It was done with malice, strength, and a raw fury. A nonchalance for human life, it seems. Much like the same nonchalance shared by the evil men you run from.

You hear faint voices call from the trees. 

They’ve tracked you. And they’re coming closer.

“We can’t come here. It’s cursed ground. Don’t you know who this castle used to belong to?”

“Yeah, and they’re dead. No one’s seen em’ for ages. But I see little footsteps. Have a feeling the lass went this way.”

You freeze, glancing between the bodies, the huge castle door before you, and the mouth of the forest.

It’s the castle and its possible hidden horrors, or the men on your trail.

“Skin like ebony, that one. Pretty mouth, doe eyes. She’d sell for a pretty penny.. We wouldn’t have to raid for months.”

“…Or we could keep her to warm the cold nights.”

Your mind races, trying to choose. 

You could fight the men, still. But there are many of them, and just one of you. Your magic is somewhat abysmal without knowledge to guide you, and your dagger won’t measure up to prove the little sword skills you do possess. Your words will probably not get you out of this one, either. Not this time.

“I’d rather make her scream.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you Macon? But you did that to the last one, and now we’re out here hunting a new lass instead of enjoying the old one.”

‘That’s it,’ you decide.

The castle it is.

You sprint away from the woods as fast as your billowing cloak and dress will allow, ignoring the foul smell of decay and passing between the bodies. You feel as though you’ve irrevocably crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed, a decision made that can’t be taken back.

You will live with it, you decide. Better that, than capture.

Racing to the front of the grand doors, larger than the largest buildings you’ve witnessed in life before this day, you bang raptly against the wood and stone.

For a moment, nothing happens and you feel as though you will be caught right at the footsteps of this castle.

Then, you hear a doldrum, a creak and whirring of machinery and mass movement. The door shifts open just slight enough for you to slide through, making a gigantic noise in it’s wake. 

Quick as wind, you push through and fall to the floor, turning to see the grand door begin to shut closed behind you. 

The men stand before the staked bodies, unwilling to pass them and watching you as the doors close you out of their sight.

“You’d be better off with us murderers and thieves, woman!” One shouts futilely. “For even our hearts aren’t as black as the monster’s in those walls!” 

The door shuts him and the rest out. You harrumph and stand, wiping the dust off your dress and looking away.

Fuck him. And fuck his threats, and fuck his horrible little friends. Any black-hearted beasts you come across, you could handle well enough.

At least…that’s what you tell yourself to keep a brave face. Better that than nothing.

You look around.

The inside of the castle is larger than life, grand, and dark. Everything is clean and without dust as you would’ve expected from such a structure…an army couldn’t keep this clean…yet it feels unlived in.

For a moment, there is nothing but heavy, oppressive silence. You listen for a breath, a sound, but can hear nothing outside of your own increasing heartbeat.

You turn, looking to the top of the staircase.

Your eyes tell you there is nothing there, but your instincts tell you something else.

Suddenly, the lights of a thousand candles sweep on throughout the grand hall, illuminating a massive stone staircase and a figure standing at the top of it. You have very good sight, but the room is so large that you can barely make out the figure, even with the candlelight.

Nothing is said, the figure is motionless, and you begin to tremble. This must be the one who lives in this place…not an intruder or a vagrant. You don’t know how you know, but the figure is too large, too looming, and too confident even in its vagueness of detail for you to assume it to be anything other than the owner. 

The one who likely staked those unfortunate souls outside the walls.

You feel as if the mysterious figure is waiting for something, and you don’t know what to say. But something must be said.

Your voice is as steady as your fear will allow.

“My name is ———. I come from afar. I am…I am seeking refuge…if you will have me.”

“Refuge from the men outside.” 

The voice carries through the empty hall, lilting, low, and deadly. You hear hints of refinement in the speech but they are not enough to hide the white hot lethalness you sense underneath. A rage that you cannot even begin to place or name.

“Y-yes,” you stumble embarrassingly, affected, “from the men outside. They followed me here. I have nowhere to go.”

“And so you feel entitled to my protection.”

“No!’ You exclaim, shaking your head. You stopped expecting assistance from people long ago. The life of a lonely wanderer is just that...lonely. “I inconvenience you, and for that I apologize sincerely. Just…just refuge. I can be on my way after they depart.”

“To where...?” The disembodied voice says as calm as a pond at night, yet you feel the ripples that lie beneath.

“Nowhere,” you breathe.

“…And you come from?” The figure disappears like a mist, yet the voice remains.

“I…nowhere,” you gasp honestly, truly afraid now.

“Lies.” The voice spits viciously, sounding closer then far away, as if it’s bouncing around the space of the great hall.

“It’s t-true!” You insist, your trembling hands reeling in towards your chest in a futile attempt of protection from the unseen danger. “I hail from nowhere! I belong to nowhere! I have little. Just refuge, sir. A night, even!”

“I could grant you refuge,” the voice assumes, “or I could send you back out to those men and be bothered with none of you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you breathe, daring a chance to hope.

The voice chuckles humorlessly, dry as dead leaves.

“Perhaps,” it toys. “But I also wouldn’t allow a mysterious woman of mysterious origins to stay in my castle, learn of my ways, only to run back to the outside world and send a horde of farmhands sprinting over to slay me. Wouldn’t be the first time. No, I think I’ll keep you instead. Are you willing to make that bargain with the Devil?”

You pause, your mind blank. You search for an answer to reason with this...this...your thoughts race.

“Look, I know I’ve come into your abode unannounced and rather…rather rudely, making demands, but I must implore you—“

“—Answer me!” the voice barks, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

'That’s it.’

“You’re a prick, you know that?!” You blurt.

“…” You can hear the confusion in the empty air. “…Pardon?”

You push on, figuring that if you’re going to be staked by the unseen castle-owner or given up to the men outside, or toyed with any longer by any of this nonsense, that you may as well speak your mind one last time.

“You know good and goddamn well that I am not running into a fantastical, creepy castle of myth decorated by corpses on the front porch for the fun of it! As if I care or even believe some farmhands could handle much less defeat you when you can clearly impale full grown adults and work such a place as this—!”

“...”

“—And how dare you tease a woman scared out of her wits, can you even pretend to try to put yourself in my place?! Do you know how long I’ve been running from those idiots? If I had your strength I’d’ve staked them myself and added them to your lovely, little welcome collection as a visiting gift, because believe me, I’m sick of running from morons and monsters! I’m not above spilling blood! But as I said before, I possess little, and come from nothing, and journey towards nothing. From that, you can figure I can’t do much in terms of protecting myself besides running into large, spooky places and begging their arrogant owners for some rest—”

“.....”

“—So, I’d very much appreciate if you stopped toying with me and make your decision on whether you’re going to kill me, kick me out, or keep me, because I’m tired of trying to figure this all out by myself and I’m tired of the anticipation. So what’ll it be Mr. I-Like-to-Leave-Corpses-Outside-My-Castle-and-Harrass-Visitors?”

You huff after your rant, waiting.

The voice is silent for a long, long moment, before an accusing tone reverbs back to you.

“You’re the one who barged in—“

“—You’re the one who opened the door!” You return, throwing your hands out in frustration.

“I didn’t, the castle did.”

“Oh, well fuck me, then. I suppose I ought to thank the ‘castle’ and head back out to let those hoodlums try their worst. So long, strange sir! It was interesting, arguing with you.”

You turn on your heel, over this entire day, and knock at the door raptly. You tap your foot as you wait on the castle, arms crossed and dagger in your hand to strike the nearest hoodlum that likely awaited outside. What a day, you couldn’t believe this shit.

The machinery whirs once more and the door barely opens before a large, leather gloved hand reaches past your head and slams the towering door back, closing it shut. The strength the act takes is incomprehensible, you think. 

Inhuman, you realize.

The hairs at the back of your neck raise long after the presence behind you appears. You feel no breath on your neck, yet you know someone stands behind you. You can’t look away from the large, gloved hand on the door. You’re afraid to see exactly who stands behind you.

A man...? Or something else entirely….?

You try to speak but gasp instead, short and shocked.

Silence reigns before you get a hold of yourself and choke something out.

“Y-y-you’ve made your decision then…I presume...?” You stammer into a squeaking volume, your anger long gone and replaced by fear once again.

“Don’t make me regret it…” The voice sneers, close enough for the breath of it to shift your hair and the baritone to reverb over your skin. A chill runs up your back and you can do little to hide it. You feel as though the figure behind you is impossibly tall, imperceptibly assessing, and spying every single thing you do. 

You feel the presence lean in over your shoulder, a mouth right next to your ear.

“…or you will regret it, visitor. That, I can promise.”

You gulp loudly, nodding your assent without turning around. You feel frozen to the spot. The hand withdraws and your shoulders unclench only a fraction. You feel as if a predator had been standing behind you, and has decided not to destroy you...for the moment.

You wonder if you are right, and why your cheeks suddenly feel so hot when your heart is beating so fast in terror...?

“I’m going to clean the trash off of my porch,” the voice states eerily. “Don’t touch anything until I return.”

As quick as a blink, the presence disappears entirely. 

You finally turn around, alone and confused.

There is nothing but the large castle hall, looking back at you.

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AN: Do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit any of my work. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ next. 

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

[quartzwriting]

Green and Gold

Pairing: Doctor Strange X Fem!Reader

Description: During a visit to Asgard, Stephen is protective over you since Loki always seems to not be able to take his eyes off you. 

Warnings: Non

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Originally posted to Quotev / I like this one :3

Masterlist | Fic Reading Recs | Ao3 | Quotev | Coffee

The frantic rainbow lights disappeared and you stumbled to get your balance on the solid ground that you were thrown on. Stephen was there to help steady you, at hand at your waist with the other at the ready to prevent you from falling over. You wondered why you all could not just travel here through a slingring portal. But Thor insisted you take the Bifrost. To 'get the experience' he had said before he called for it. The knowing smirk on Stephen's face in that moment told you that you might regret this.

In little time you found yourself in Asgard.

Stephen would come here occasionally to discuss relations between mystical threats and threats to the realms. You came along this time. You wanted to see Asgard, Thor wanted you to come along, but Stephen was hesitant to let you come. He told you that someone needed to watch over the Sanctum while he was gone, you made Wong do it instead. He said Asgardian magic is hard to understand, you reminded him that you were advanced now in your mystical studies that you could keep up. He said that it would only be a night or two, you said that you did not want him to leave you for a night or two.

You won and had convinced him. So now you were at the entrance of Asgard, having just experienced being magically thrown across the universe with possible whiplash and your lunch threatening to come up.

Thor, holding his beloved hammer in one hand, looked over at you. "What did you think, Lady (Y/N)?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick." You mumbled.

Stephen patted you on the back, "You'll be alright." There was a slightly amused tone in his voice and that gave you a sudden urge to kick him in the shins.

You had ended up in the middle of a room that was golden and shaped like a dome. There were circular patterns on the walls and in the centre golden steps that lead to a little pedestal that held a sword. Someone was holding that sword, and you were introduced to Heimdall who was the protector of the Bifrost. He bowed to you like you were important and you returned with a bow of your head. Just outside the room, you could see the bridge sparkling with the same rainbow colours as the way you had gotten here. Beyond the long bridge was the castle in the distance.

Thor gestured for you to follow him, so you fell into step beside Stephen as you exited the small structure. You were now walking on the Bifrost bridge. The view you saw before you was absolutely breathtaking. The glittering bridge was just the beginning. Underneath it was a roaring river of clear water. The palace was beautiful, the structure standing as tall as the mountains in its background. The buildings of the surrounding city were sparkling everywhere. You have seen so much since becoming a sorcerer, but this was something else.

Stephen saw the smile on your face and the look of awe in your eyes. This made him smile, and he was suddenly glad he brought you here. He always loved showing you new things, fueling your curiosity and experiencing new things with you. But there was a little worry in the back of his mind that would not go away.

There was one reason, above all others, that Stephen did not want to bring you along.

Loki would be here.

He hated the way he looked at you. He hated his very being because of it. And the knowledge that you and him would be in the same place made his blood boil. Ever since that time Loki showed his face in New York and he had to take him to prevent him from doing anything, and he looked at you up and down like that, he disliked the god so much. And he was so nice to you, and you were nice to him. Whenever Stephen went to Asgard and ran into Loki, he would ask about you. Stephen did not like it.

But your reaction to the city and planet, and you had just gotten here, made the worry go away a little. He would be by your side anyways, to keep Loki away if he was going to try anything. He would throw the cloak around your shoulders to have it hide you away if he needed to. But at the moment he focused on being with you for your first impressions of Asgaurd and not worry too much.

~~~

You were awoken by a light touch and someone softly shaking you awake. The sleepiness was not shaken however, you groaning in protest as you cuddled up even more into the covers of the soft, silken sheets and thick comforter.

There was a chuckle and you new who it was from the deep tone. You lazily opened your eyes and saw Stephen looking down at you, already dressed and seeming wide awake. The sun was shining through the large window with the beautiful view of Asgard. It looked like the world was awake, but you were not ready to drag yourself out of bed.

"I have the first meeting this morning. Thought maybe you would want to come along but looks like you don't want to get out of bed."

You simply let out another sleepy groan.

Then you did a double take, noticing what he was wearing.

He had on his Cloak of Levitation, but underneath that was something different. He had swapped out his regular blue robes for an Asgardian version. It was made in a different style, but it still resembled his old robes. The blue was more rich in its colour, more royal and regal looking. The wrappings were lined with a golden fabric on the edges, it went really well with his signature red and blue. It was a very stark contrast between the one you were used to seeing him wear verse this new one. But you loved it. Seeing all the beautiful clothing everyone wore here made you happy, and seeing a piece like that on Stephen was astonishing.

"You like it?" He caught you staring.

"I love it," You said groggily but happily, running a hand through your hair and sitting up in the bed.

Straightening the cloak over his shoulders, he leaned over and kissed you on your forehead. "I should head to the meeting now. We'll be done before lunch." With that he left your shared guest room, closing the large door behind him.

You wanted to fall back asleep, but it did not overtake you. It was one of those moments where you just laid there cause you were already awaken. But you wanted to sleep. But you couldn't. So you stared out the window, looking out at the pretty mountain peaks and wondering what that first meeting was about. You also wondered about the other things you were going to do while on this foreign planet. Tour of the scenery, trying more of that delicious food (you were dying over it last night at dinner), learning about its history. Maybe you would learn a little Asgardian magic while you were here. The idea of that gave you a little excitement.

A little while later, while you were lost in a daydream, there was a knock on your door. You got up and grabbed a silk robe that was on a chair by your bedside. "Come in," You said, wrapping and tying the robe over yourself. Two women came through the door, maids of the castle you assumed.

One was holding a pile of neatly folded up fabric in her hands. You got excited.

The two introduced themselves and said that Frigga sent them to wake you and get you ready for breakfast. Since the meeting was going on between Odin, Stephen, Thor, and a few others, Frigga decided to have a little breakfast gathering for you. The women were so sweet, making small talk and asking you about Midgard as they prepared you a hot bath and did your hair in a fancy braid down your back that resembled a French braid.

The moment you were anticipating soon came, and they helped you get dressed.

The dress you were presented with was a deep forest green with golden embellishments. Silk fabric sat in long layers down the skirt, trailing out longer at the back. The neckline did not dive too deep down your chest, just enough for subtlety. The  short sleeves clung to the sides of your upper arms, shoulders exposed above the folded layers. The gold piece wrapped around your waist as a belt helped bring out the details. The length slightly dragged on the floor, looking elegant and glittering in the sunlight. You felt like an Asgardian princess wearing it.

It reminded you of someone. Then you wondered who had picked it...

One of the girls topped off your look with a golden pin in your hair, shaped like a flourishing lily tucked above your right ear. The two admired their work and you thanked them from the bottom of your heart. The girl you saw in the mirror was so different then yourself. You saw an Asgardian goddess, not a sorcerer.

You asked them for directions after thanking them a second time, knowing you would get lost in the giant palace. They told you where to go, curtsying to you as a goodbye. You did it back, pulling up the fabric of your dress to feel a little more into it. With one last look in the mirror, and pulling your shoulders back, you made your way out of your guest room and down the correct hallway.

You were directed to a drawing room that was down a tall staircase and a few doors to your left. There was a guard in front of the wooden door, but upon seeing you he bowed and held it open for you. The room inside was not too large, but the big open window gave the impression that it was. Decorated just as nicely as the rest of the place, this room was no exception to the royal aspect and medieval aesthetic to the palace. There were a few comfy chairs surrounding a low table, where Frigga greeted you with a warm smile.

Sitting in the seat beside her was Loki. You had not seen him yesterday when you had arrived. This made you wonder why he had not said hello to you then along with everyone else. He also was not at dinner last night. Weird. He held a tea cup in one hand as he leaned back in his chair, cradling its saucer in the other hand. Seeing Loki sipping tea from a pretty cup with his pinky finger jutting out was a different sight, a contrast to his darker persona you knew was hidden beneath.

You hugged Frigga, which she insisted on, and you sat down with them. You all chatted over breakfast and you sparking up conversation with Loki was a little awkward at first, but once you opened up a little it flowed easily. The tea was amazing and the little pastries laid out on nice platters were absolutely delicious. Frigga asked about your magic skills, and you both began to exchange stories about magic. You had a great time and you were glad you got out of bed for this. Soon Frigga had some business to take care of and had to cut this little gathering short.

When you left Loki caught up with you in the hallway.

"It has been a while since we have seen each other, Lady (Y/N)."

A lot of the people here were calling you that. And people you did not even know knew your name, which always kind of threw you off for a second or two. That told you that you were known here, from either Thor or Stephen talking. The whole 'Lady' thing was out of respect you assumed, and you did not mind.

"It has." You replied as you both walked down the hall together, "It was nice to see you again, Loki."

"How are you liking it here?" He asked with a smile.

"I love it!" You beamed, "It's beautiful, the food is amazing," You then gestured down to the dress you were wearing, "and the clothes are stunning."

He chuckled, "Green looks good on you."

"Easy for you to say, it's your favorite."

"No no," He sputtered, and you thought he looked a little...flustered? "You genuinely look beautiful in green."

A little heat ran up to your cheeks. "Oh, thanks."

There was a balcony up ahead where you saw sunlight streaming in. You picked up your pace to go look out of it, Loki right behind you. It was overlooking the back of the castle, where you could see a beautiful garden down below, before the landscape stretched out into more of the city and the mountains beyond.

For a second or two you wondered what was past those peaks. If the planet simply stopped there, or if there were forests or towns or lakes or anything else that you wanted to discover. This whole place was full of beauty and the idea that there was a possibility for more was just a little overwhelming. But you loved it.

"I'm happy you like my home." Loki leaned on the railing, looking out at the city with you. "Although it was not always considered my home."

"What do you mean?" You asked. You noticed a sadness in his eyes now.

"You know my history."

At that moment you realized what that sadness was. Probably memories flashing through his mind. You did know his history. Lied to all his life, being overcome by the sadness and anger and wrath and desire for revenge. You knew what that lead to, the New York event and everything that came with and after that. Right now, he was allowed freedom back in his home for 'rehabilitation' of sorts, offered a second chance. Not knowing what that was like, you could not relate, but you knew he had gone through pain. It was even painful to see it in his eyes.

"So do you consider it home again?" It was all you could think of to say.

He shook his head in a light nod after a second to think, the look on his features exchanged for one with a small smile. A weird thought crossed your mind, you had not seen Loki smile this much before.

The two of you stood there looking out at the city below, watching the people of Asgard go about their days. It was a calm silence that fell, not a line of tension or heavy weight of awkwardness at all. Just a calm.

"Hey," Loki said out of nowhere, and you turned your head to look at him as he spoke up, "your outfit is missing something."

You raised an eyebrow at him, coming off as almost sarcastic. "Oh?"

A smirk sneaked up on his face and you knew he was going to do something. You braced yourself for whatever it might be, good or bad or a mix of both. With a flicker of green magic, an object materialized in his hands. It was his helmet, shining gold with the curved horns. It was so polished that you could see your reflection in it.

Then he was holding it out to you.

"Oh no, I couldn't."

Loki cocked his head to the side and shrugged with a smile, again with the smiling, "Why not?"

A pause, you did not say anything because you had nothing to say. Something about it was very tempting, but it also felt forbidden. Like if you were to put it on you would be overcome by some spell or just a wave of emotion. Or just the thought of wearing something that was considered 'crown-like', because you were not royalty or a goddess or someone with high power. But it was all calling your name, with a glint of gold.

"I insist." Loki added.

After another moment's pause, you let him put the helmet into your hands. It was lighter than you expected it to be, with pure gold usually being heavy. Probably not made of pure gold then. Just a trick of the eye.

Without waiting anymore, you slowly rested the helmet on your head. Right away you noticed it was a little big on you. It was not made to fit your head, obviously, but you felt something while wearing it. Maybe honour, or pride. Or maybe just pure 'slyness', the same energy that Loki often channeled.

"Looks good." Loki beamed.

"I'm dressed like you," You snapped jokingly, "that's why you think I look good."

He laughed and you did too. Maybe I should wear more green, you told yourself.  

As you both continued to watch the city below and make small talk, from down the hall you could hear footsteps. Maybe guards or other people of the palace, you presumed. But as they approached, they got louder. And they got quicker. Heavy boots, you deduced. But suddenly they stopped.

"Nice view."

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Stephen had suddenly appeared right beside you. So those were his footsteps. You had not expected him to be out of the meeting for another while, but there he was. Him and that damn short-range teleportation spell he just loved to use for some reason. There were too many instances of him appearing out of nowhere back home and it resulted to you being more jumpy nowadays. He had positioned himself between you and Loki you noticed. Loki looked just as surprised as you were, the trickster being tricked.

"Where did you come from?" Loki scowled

"Down the hall." He answered blankly. You stiffed a laugh at his demeanor, sly and confident, when realization hit you that those were aspects of his jealous and protective side coming out. Oh boy, here we go...

"I'm surprised you're out of bed," Stephen looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, which made you chuckle. You saw a tiny twitch in the corner of his eye, and something told you that it had something to do with the god opposite you and the headpiece you were now wearing.

Stephen reached forward and gently lifted the gold helmet off your head, care in his eyes and shaking fingers. Once it was off, he (not so subtly) aggressively threw it at Loki's chest who stumbled to catch it, all trace of gentleness gone. Loki gave him a mock offended look, but Stephen's own hard expression was not phased. Your eyes quickly darted between the two, seeing the tension that had now thickened the air.

"Should't you be at a meeting with Odin?" Loki said. You noticed he did not say my father.

"Oh we finished early," Stephen replied in a light tone, trying to one-up the god while bringing out his ego's confidence. "we're having another one this evening however."

Loki looked like he did not know what to do, which made an amused smile spread across the sorcerer's face. Then he straight up asked, monotone voice dropping to sound flat and serious, "Why was she wearing your helmet?"

"Because...it matches her outfit?" The god struggled to find and answer only to come up with a question instead.

"Yea, sure." Stephen mumbled, "Wonder where she got that outfit."

"Some palace maids dressed me," You chimed in, but it felt like you were invisible at the moment. There was too much testosterone in the air that was covering your existence, which made you roll your eyes.

"Green and gold are nice colours." Loki said while trying to sound convincing and innocent.

"Coincidence she's wearing them?" Stephen shot back, suspicious.

"I had nothing to do with it, Strange."

"Oh sure."

"Oh my god." You slumped against the railing and rested your face in your hands. The two went on to snap at each other and argue for a little, but it felt like an eternity. after a period of you just standing there listening helplessly, the heat started to die down.

"If you'll excuse me, Sorcerer Supreme," Loki enunciated Stephen's title like it was a forbidden word, "I should be headed to attend some business."

He tried to walk off but Stephen cut him off, "Oh what kind of business do you have to do?"

"Business that does not require a mere mortal sorcerer to stick his clever nose into!"

"Well, it looked like it was no more important then taking my girl somewhere to be alone with!" The low rumble in his voice made it a little more threatening.

With that, Loki rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it hurt. And he walked away without another word, flipping his helmet over in his hands before jabbing it on his head with visible frustration.

"Well that was a show." You said, having stood there watching the whole thing like it was a theater drama.

Stephen shrugged, "I try my best."

You laughed, "Your jealousy gets to your head."

His facial expression recoiled, "Do you enjoy my jealousy? Do you enjoy his company?"

Your jaw dropped for a second in offence, "God no, why would I enjoy making you upset?" At that you shrugged, "Although it can be amusing."

You felt a pinch on your arm which made you let out a sound of distress. Stephen chuckled, and wrapped an arm around you lovingly as you leaned against the balcony railing together.

"He was just trying to be nice, Stephen."

"I don't think he can be 'nice',"

"He was nice at breakfast,"

"You had breakfast with him?"

"I was with Frigga. He just so happened to be there."

"Okay fine."

You laughed and he gently kissed the top of your head. After a moment of quiet and peace, you felt his softly shaking hand fiddle with the sleeve of your dress, "You look very beautiful."

Blushing, you looked up at him with admiring eyes. His expression mirrored yours. He was still wearing the new robes you last saw him in, the gold linings glittering in the Asgardian sunlight. You were about to say the same thing he said to you, when his expression changed. It was his thinking face.

"What?"

Stephen must have realized something as raised an eyebrow, "There's magic in your dress."

Before you could react, Stephen waved his hand in a quick motion. Suddenly, green waves of energy flowed out of the fabric of your clothes. But they soon changed to orange sparks, Asgardian magic to Earth sorcerer magic. As they flowed over you, the colour of your dress changed. The green was replaced with blue and the gold was replaced with red. There was still a little gold here and there, lining the edges in a familiar way.

"I knew it. He must have tampered with it." Stephen grumbled.

Now your dress mimicked the colours of Stephen's clothes, their original colours. You laughed a little, the person who made your clothes thought they were clever. But also Loki thought he was clever to change it to his colours. You wondered when and why he did that, but you shrugged it off and instead admired the dress in this new perspective.  

"That's better." Stephen said, a little proud of himself for some reason.

"I like this more." You giggled.

"Me too."

The dress felt lighter and the fabric shined a little more. It was made for you, perfectly tailored to your body and with the perfect colours to match. It was perfect. And it reminded you of him so it made it all the more special. If they would not let you keep it, then you are just going to bring it home with you anyways.

"Well since the meeting was cut off early, lunch is not for another half an hour or so. What should we do till then?"

"Well~" You drew out, a smile creeping up your face, "I was looking at the gardens from here and I wouldn't mind going to see them."

Stephen smiled. He offered his elbow to you, "Then do you care for romantic stroll, Lady (Y/N)?" He put on his best English accent (which was surprisingly flawless), his naturally low voice making it all the more amusing.

With a giggle, you took his arm. Together you made your way through the castle in a swish of red and blue fabrics.

"Although," Stephen started as you both made your way down the last set of stairs that lead to the ground floor, "you did look good in the green. Even though I hate to admit it."

"Hate to admit it?" You looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Well it was Loki's trickery, but you look good regardless. As always."

[lovelywingsart]

Metallic (18+)

-- Karl Heisenberg X OC (AFAB, She/They) --

Oh lord here we go- Ok, first off, y'all get a small paragraph beforehand, please forgive me. :'D I've... never posted smut THIS PUBLICLY before. This is admittedly incredibly nerve-wracking and I'm hella nervous because I feel like I write... 'conservatively'? You'll see what I mean. So... Please go easy on me for this one...? I'm great for sweet stuff and angst, but smut is a whole other beast despite NSFW being one of my favorite art forms when drawing. I mean, I've already made a few *spicy* art pieces for them, but just... Writing is difficult. I mean, I really hope you guys like it anyway!! But fair warning. THIS is new for me. QuQ I do have a few more smut pieces in the works, but this was the first one written.

So uh... on to the story, I guess...!

**Small reminder that I have a small 'Masterlist' for these!**

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*Warning?: Hella smut, lots of biting, choking and kisses, some blood from said biting, just rough sex in general? Normal, to rough, to fluff. not entirely sure what else to add?? :'D It's all consensual, no worries.

Summary: With some high tensions, a smart mouth, and some unfortunate forgetfulness, Emelia gets herself into a bit of... 'trouble' with the notorious Metal Man. But maybe this time she bit off a bit more than she could chew... Not that she really ends up minding.

A pair of footsteps echoed through the underground tunnels of the factory, almost mimicking the constant sounds of pickaxes being dug into the stone. The walking man looked around every once in a while, seemingly proud of whatever progress had been made.

"All is going well. Good, good." He said proudly, puffing on the cigar he held between his fingers. The woman next to him rolled her eye. The small lights of the tunnels glinted in the glasses he wore as he turned his head to glance at her. "Is there a problem?" He chuckled.

"If by 'well' you mean 'excruciatingly slow by dimwitted slaves', then yes."

"Would you like to join them then, Emmy?"

"Bloody hell, no. I'm still sore from lugging those damned carts around..." Emelia mumbled, reaching to rub behind her neck. The man next to her chuckled again, handing over his cigar. He stepped forward slightly as she took it, holding out his free arm.

"And yet you're still walking!" He chimed, looking back at her as she puffed on the cigar, herself. "We'll change that soon enough."

"I'm not working myself to death, Heisenberg." She huffed, picking up speed and shoving the cigar back into his face. "While factory productions are important to me too, perhaps learn the definition of a 'break', and not as in 'break my back'."

Karl took the cigar with amusement as she walked forward ahead, clearly heading back to the main building.

"First you tell me to work harder, then you say not at all." He mused, following closely. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I can do what I want?"

"And yet, what you want is what affects YOUR factory in the long run... Timing, Karl."

"You act as if you know more about MY factory than I do."

"And what do you know?"

"Everything."

"Good, then you know I'm heading upstairs to rest for a moment."

"I assumed so."

~

The two wandered along the corridors to a hall with stairs leading to a metal door, sharing the cigar before she went forward and kicked the door open, snorting as she heard an irritated grunt behind her.

"If you break that, you're fixing it." He muttered, setting his hammer down to the side as he took the cigar from her. She snorted, tossing her own weapon to the side, watching it land on a pile of fabrics used for either covering machinery or covering herself when she slept, whichever happened to come first.

"You say that as if it would be difficult." She retorted, taking her hair out of the tie it was in and running her hand through it before stretching slightly as he walked past her to sit in a chair next to a desk in the room they were in. It was similar to a bedroom, but not quite. 'More like an office with a small bed' , she always said, occasionally taking residence on said 'bed' when she was tired. She felt Heisenbergs eyes on her as her muscles stretched and popped, and she let out a satisfied groan.

"It wouldn't be, but you'll have to make a new one from scratch." He said, arching a brow as he leaned back in the chair. She rolled her eye, moving to stretch her arms in front of her.

"Again, not hard." She shrugged, finally moving towards the desk he was next to. "Making a door takes less brains than you already have."

"Are you calling me an idiot?"

"I'm not calling you a genius."

She almost laughed as she saw him pause before taking a long drag on the cigar.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear you say that." He sighed. She shrugged, leaning over the table and looking over the papers that had been laying on it.

"It's a joke, Heisenberg. I'll admit you're more intelligent than you let on." She said, moving the papers and other objects slightly while looking at them. She then paused as she held them, her eye going over the plans, x-rays, and sketches. "Did you leave out the other Soldat plans?"

"They're in with the cadou notes. I thought you would have seen them." He said simply, reaching for a manila folder on the corner of the table. He put the cigar in his mouth as he opened it and flipped through with a huff. "The new ones haven't been functioning properly, damn things... I'm thinking of rewiring the circuits to the brain.".

"Wouldn't that cause more damage than good?"

"Not if it's done properly." He chewed on the cigar for a moment before flipping over one of the papers. "The worst that could happen is the head exploding from the current. In that case-"

"Lycan food?" She suggested. He nodded in agreement.

"Lycan food. They're mostly useless to me otherwise..."

"As are most things..." she muttered, earning a glance. She looked back at him. "What? Am I wrong?"

"Not necessarily. Others do still have use."

"How?" She asked, turning to face him. "No head means no use."

He shrugged, tossing the folder back onto the table before leaning back in the chair.

"Replace certain muscle tissue and bones with pneumatic or hydraulic systems, whichever proves to be less of a pain in the ass that day, hot wire circuits to the remaining muscle structures, add an engine system into the chest with a strong battery..." he tilted his head slightly, almost as if he were picturing the plans in his head, thinking of more details as he went along. "They would quite literally be mindless, but a few shocks and currents would make them go just fine."

"Sounds a bit like you..." Emelia snorted, turning back to the table to organize the papers as he glared at her. "Shall I pick a few poor sods from the village to test this?"

"Or I could just use you..." he muttered.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Keep making your ass-backwards comments and see what happens." He shot back, finally pushing himself up to stand. "Yes, I'd like you to do that. Fresh bodies work best for the experiments. I'll send out the Lycans as well, given they don't tear them apart."

"That wouldn't matter anyway, Karl. You'll just stitch them back up like you always do."

"I could, couldn't I?" He started, taking a step closer to stand next to her with a sinister smile. "Or I could make YOU do it. You seem to have fun with tearing things apart and putting them back together-"

"I'm NOT sewing your bloody creations together." She interrupted. "I'll kill them and I'll tear them to shreds, or I'll assist with the inner workings of the mechanics. I don't sew."

"You'll learn."

"Like hell I will."

"I'll make you."

"Bullocks."

"Keep talking, Emelia." He dared, his voice lowering in a threatening manor. "I'm not in the mood."

"You were before we got here." She challenged. She only held her breath as he suddenly snuffed out the cigar on the table itself while his eyes seemed to stare directly through her.

"That's what happens when you keep insulting me, Emmy. I start to get angry. You know that."

She felt a chill down her spine at his voice. It was different from any other time she had aggravated him... It was as if she were in actual danger. His face was only inches away from hers, and he smirked once he noticed her hesitation.

"Scared, Emelia?"

She kept her eye on him, watching his movements carefully. No, No she wasn't in danger... Maybe.

"No." She replied, lifting her chin slightly as he arched a brow.

"Oh?"

"What is it you say to me...? I'm 'in a mood'...? Because I believe you're currently in one, yourself." She asked, finally moving forward and brushing past him in a nonchalant manor despite being somewhat stiff in her movements. "Drink some coffee and throw a few things around with that power of yours, you'll be fine."

She felt his eyes on her as she neared a cushioned chair against the wall.

"I'll throw YOU around..." He growled, taking amusement in her body slowing down as he spoke. He walked towards her as she turned to face him. "See how that pretty mouth works after your head goes through a wall."

"You forget I've stopped your hammer with my arm." She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest before smirking. "You smashing my head through a wall would be as effective as Sturm trying to hold something with his nubs."

"You don't seem to understand what I can do to you, Emelia."

"And you don't seem to understand the amount of fucks I don't give, Karl."

His arm twitched slightly, and she glanced over as metal pieces on the floor began to shake just slightly. She just hoped he wouldn't direct his power towards her...

"If you would like to play, I'll GLADLY entertain you."

She suddenly got in his face, a mischievous, antagonistic spark in the gold of her eye.

"Entertain me HOW? Throw me to the Lycans? The Varcolacs? Hell, let Urias get ahold of me, see what happens."

He bared his teeth in a snarl, though the corners of his mouth stayed in a malicious grin.

"I'll turn YOU into a goddamn Soldat, you'll be so full of metal you won't be able to FUNCTION without me-"

"I'm more afraid of your SISTER than I am you!"

Her smirk widened as she saw a sudden spark of anger in his face, his smile faltering.

"Don't you dare attempt to bring that bitch into this, I'll put my hammer straight into your skull-"

"TRY ME, THEN-" She started, only to give a yelping gasp in surprise as Heisenberg slammed her against the wall by her throat.

"Shut your damn hole!!!-" He snarled. His grip was tight, but he seemed to stop once he glanced at her open mouth. All of a sudden the air around them changed, and she stared at him with confusion in her one golden eye. "Oh, Emmy, you didn't tell me!" He said with a sudden cheerful tone, moving his hand from her throat to her jaw. He switched so quickly...

"Wh-" she began, only to stop as her jaw was yanked open. She was confused until she saw the reflection of her tongue piercing in his glasses.

Shit.

"Well well, I guess you've got some metal in you after all. I won't have to try as hard..." He chuckled, tilting his head as she stared at her own reflection. "What else are you hiding from me, Emmy?"

Her eye was wide in simultaneous fear and curiosity. She knew she couldn't have hidden the piercings forever, but certainly longer than this. She usually at least took the one out of her mouth when around him given how often they talked for this reason... But even then, he had never noticed it before. Why now?! She kicked herself for forgetting. She wanted to shove him away... Shove him and run. Would he chase her? He was most definitely trying to scare her, she knew that much... But she also wanted to know how far he would actually go if she did nothing. Would he rip them out if he found the others? Use them as control like he mentioned? Or would he leave her alone? Something told her the latter was out of the question as he showed growing interest in her silence.

"N-.... Nothing..." she managed, nudging her jaw out of his grip. "I just-"

"You're a liar, Emelia." He said, his grin growing wider. She gave a huff and shook her head.

"I am not, you ridiculous-"

She was stopped with a startled gasp as a gloved thumb was shoved between her jaws, nearly propping her mouth open.

"Now now, this'll go far easier if you do it my way. Now open up."

He lifted his other hand to his face, taking a finger of the glove between his teeth and sliding it off. The glove fell to the ground between them, and she watched as he reached for her face with his bare hand. She flinched slightly as his fingers pressed against her lower jaw, though admittedly relaxed as his thumb drifted over her bottom lip. The skin was expectantly rough, she found, calloused and covered in smaller scars. She closed her eye as it drifted over her sharp lower teeth before thrusting over her tongue, pushing it back and causing a small gaging reflex. It tasted... metallic... Metallic with hints of other things. Not quite metal, not quite blood... Maybe residual oil? Maybe a hint of the cigars. She couldn't tell exactly what it was, but the mixture wasn't bad... She really didn't mind much. She could almost feel the interested look on his face as she relaxed, though she attempted to hide it. Oh god, was she enjoying this...? She only flinched as he pressed his thumb against the muscle, pushing it out of her mouth somewhat to see the piercing fully.

"Let's see how much you're hiding from me, shall we?" He grinned.

There was a moment of confused silence before she felt his thumb press against the metal rod, her eye snapping open with a gasping yelp as what felt like electric sparks and currents traveled through that piercing, as well as the others.

All the others.

The sparks lasted only a second, but a second was all that was needed as her back arched slightly away from the wall. Heisenberg took a step back in surprise as Emelia suddenly collapsed to her knees, shaking and panting ever so slightly out of shock and... something else. She doubled over with a wide eye, an arm covering her chest and the other pressed against her abdomen and ever tightening thighs. What the hell WAS that...?! What the fuck did he do?!

"W-.... Wh-...." she tried, trying to voice her thoughts. But alas, despite the tingling feeling up her spine disappearing, she couldn't. She couldn't even move as she heard movement directly in front of her, the shock of the feeling only allowing her to look up as he grabbed her chin and lifted her face to meet his. She watched as he kneeled, only to look up and see the most smug grin she had ever seen.

"Liar liar, Emmy... You know how I hate liars." He chimed, adding to the smug aura he held. It pissed her off, but she couldn't do much about it now... She then grew nervous as he tilted his head, taking in her reaction fully as she stared at him with an ever-deepening red blush on her cheeks. "If I was more foolish, I'd say you enjoyed that."

"I-I... D-did NOT...!!" She snapped, stopping with a small squeak as he shoved his thumb back into her mouth to silence her.

He was met with another squealing whine as he pressed against the piercing once more, gleefully sending more currents through the metal pieces in her body. Emelia reached up to shakily grab his arm as the piercing was left alone once more, though the residual shock still remained. She wanted to say something... Say ANYTHING... but the feeling in her face, chest and thighs was so odd and... and good... It kept her silent, and Heisenberg took interest.

"Lycan got your tongue?" He joked, chuckling as she let out a growl. He found it amusing, of course. She only frowned as he tilted his head with the ever present smirk, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light of the room. "You know, Emmy..." he started, yanking her forward by the jaw slightly as she kept her hold on his arm. "I can't help but wonder how it tastes."

She felt another shiver down her spine at the sickeningly curious tone in his voice. Taste... Taste?? She stared at him as he removed his thumb from her mouth, though nearly started to form words immediately in stupid curiosity. The answer came to her quickly, however, in the form of a hand around her neck, a mouth to hers, and being shoved against the wall once more. She made an almost strangled noise as her back hit the concrete, her mind attempting to play catch-up as she felt something being shoved into her mouth. More sparks traveled along the piercings as his tongue slid over hers, and she let out a whining growl in response.

The taste of metal and the slightest bit of sweetness filled her mouth, along with the taste of the cigar they had shared only minutes prior. But... Why did it taste so good? Why wasn't she fighting him? She found herself frozen for a few moments as the realization set in that she... truly enjoyed this. He couldn't have known, could he? There was no WAY he could have known... Oh god, what was wrong with her? She generally wanted to strangle the man, but now...

She allowed the frustration from earlier to bubble in her chest, giving her control of her limbs for a few moments. Heisenberg began to back off, thoroughly satisfied in her reactions and his 'taste test' before she suddenly grabbed the front of his jacket and yanked him back against her, giving a quiet grunt as her back was forced against the wall again with his weight. He was brought to his knees at the force of the tug, and it was her turn to feel satisfaction as a startled grunt left this throat.

Emelia returned the forceful kiss with all her strength, her back arching somewhat with the now consistent current from the piercings. Her legs shook slightly as she felt a warm feeling in her thighs from the current, unintentionally letting out quiet whimpers and heavy breaths into the kiss. His hand stayed pressed to her throat before he moved it to the side of her neck and shoved her head upwards with his thumb. He tore himself away to attack her neck immediately, licking along the skin before closing his jaws around it. She gasped as he moved along her neck, leaving bloody bites and bruises while using his free hand to nearly rip at her shirt. The fabric was pulled it from its tucked position, his grip tearing a few holes in the worn fabric as he held it taught away from her skin. She couldn't help it as her heavy breaths turned into pants, and she gripped his arm tighter as she felt the fabric continue to tear from a mixture of his grip and her squirming from the feeling between her legs. She shuddered as he finally pulled away from her now very bruised neck, his lips hovering right against her ear.

"Let me taste all of them, then." He growled, returning his hand to around her neck and squeezing along the bottom of her jaw.

Her squirming paused in his grip. 'Please, oh PLEASE-' she thought, secretly wishing to rip the shirt off, herself. But he couldn't know that... If he did, she knew he'd taunt her mercilessly. Not that he wasn't doing the same now... Instead she shook her head just slightly, trying to even out her breathing.

"W-Wait-" she started quietly, only to gasp once more as he finally tore the front of the shirt clean off from the seams. He tossed the fabric to the side as her back arched to meet the new air her front was exposed to, the newly revealed silver nipple piercings glinting as her body moved.

"Too late." He chuckled deeply, grabbing her by the side and bringing her chest forward as if he were claiming a prize.

He leaned down slightly, his arm wrapping around her as his mouth returned to her skin. He kissed and nipped to her shoulders and collarbone until his lips met the tip of the large scar that rested between her breasts. She swore she could almost see something flicker in his shade-covered eyes as he seemed to study it before nipping at it carefully. The nips were... oddly careful. It was as if he knew what it was... She managed to compose herself enough to speak, one of her hands moving to nudge his shoulder. She couldn't help but give a nervous gulp as he looked up at her, his eyes burning as if her touch had fueled the fire.

"N-... N-Not... um..." she tried, her voice oddly timid. She knew what was happening, though the idea made her nervous... "N-Not... here..."

"Hm?" He tilted his head slightly, loosening his grip on her neck. He then followed her gaze to the small 'bed' in the corner of the room- though it was more like a single mattress over a solid 'frame' with random odd pillows along the wall and multiple covers lumped on top. It was how she liked it.

"Th-There... uh..." she looked away for a moment, heavily aware her burning cheeks. "P-... P-Please..."

She could nearly feel his smile against her skin as he chuckled, though he didn't reply. It was then that she was suddenly picked up with a surprised yelp and tossed over his shoulder, her knees pressing against his sides to balance herself. She managed to hold on long enough before he walked to the 'bed', landing roughly onto it as she was tossed. She nearly scrambled to sit up until she looked up at him, watching him quickly close the space between them, removing his thick jacket and single remaining glove.

"Stay still, Emmy. The show is just getting started." He taunted, unbuttoning the long sleeve shirt he wore before kneeling onto the cushion and looming over her. She couldn't help as her vision traveled down what she could see of his chest, seeing similar scars along his skin.

She opened her mouth to speak, giving a quiet yelp as she was shoved into the sheets by her neck, her legs now situated around his waist. Her back arched as he leaned over, biting at her shoulder and collarbone once more before around one breast and onto the other. She gave a whining gasp as he reached the peak, his tongue swirling around the sensitive skin and the small bar of metal pierced through it, his teeth grazing the it ever so slightly. He used his other hand to trail along the scar on her chest and down to her pierced belly, his rough fingers caressing the skin until they pushed underneath the tied overalls. Her legs twitched as his fingers reached the piercing between them, feeling as it was surrounded by a moist warmth. He smirked.

"I knew it." He said, rubbing against the piercing and bundle of nerves with another jolt of electricity before removing his hand. She couldn't help the whine that left her throat as her hips bucked lightly from the feeling, and he chuckled. "Easy..." he muttered, returning the palm of his hand to her stomach and shoving her down.

He dug his fingers into the skin around the belly piercing as she glanced down, and she made another strangled noise as he sent another wide current through her piercings. Her back arched as he pressed harder to keep her down, though she was startled as he suddenly crushed his mouth against hers once more. The small currents pulsed in a slow rhythm as she returned the kiss, her legs shaking and tightening against his hips. She let out a soft cry against his lips as the pulses increased, her grip on his arm tightening and even pulling him closer as the waves of a small orgasm rushed through her in spasms. The feeling was strengthened with the addition of... something pressed to her thighs underneath their clothing. But the waves... The small spasms that affected the muscles of her back and legs... While it hadn't been something she had felt even when human, and while she knew what it was, all she knew was that it felt good. REALLY good...

She could have sworn up and down she hated the man at any point before this, but as he broke the kiss and pulled away to look at her, she couldn't help but feel... want? Desire? Whatever it was, she knew she didn't want it to stop at the moment, and that's all that mattered to her. She still didn't want to give in so easily... But god damn was this feeling hard to fight off.

"D-... D-Damn you..." she nearly whispered, her voice wavering slightly. She was met with an amused chuckle as he removed his glasses and lightly sent them to the table they had been at before.

"Just what I like to hear..." He taunted, removing his hand from her throat. "Tell me, Emmy... Do you want more? Feel free to say nothing if you do."

She stared at him as he gave another sly grin, opening her mouth as if to protest... But she couldn't. Instead, she remained silent, though gave an irritated, embarrassed huff as she glanced off to the side. Her lip curled into a silent snarl as he gave another chuckle.

"I thought as much." He replied, leaning up. His fingers were dragged along her skin as he moved, trailing along other scars that littered her skin.

She glanced down to follow his hands, watching as they trailed over her hips and around to her front where the knot in the tied mechanic suit she wore. With one quick movement it was untied and loosened, and she jumped as everything was suddenly pulled away and off of her hips, sliding down her thighs. She froze at the new rush of cool air surrounding the warmth between her thighs, and suddenly the entirety of the clothing was removed as he seamlessly pulled it away from her legs. Now she was completely bare in front of him... Exposed.

The desire to cover herself was overwhelming as she met his eyes, seeing the smugness and sense of possession he gave as he took in every visible inch of her skin. Her arms and legs twitched in an attempt to cover any vulnerable areas, but she suddenly found her arms pinned next to her head and his hips against the backs of her thighs to keep them open.

"Don't you dare." He grumbled, a smirk still on his face as he glanced down slightly before looking back up at her face. "I haven't tasted everything yet."

"Wh-..." she tried, her legs twitching again.

She was met with another kiss as he leaned down, though it didn't last long. She let out quiet pants as his lips and teeth moved along her jaw to her neck, leaving more bites and bruises among the ones that already stained the skin. Her arms twitched as he reached her breasts again, hit tongue repeating the same actions as before on both piercings before finally returning to the large scar running down her sternum. He planted light kisses and nips along it, earning her confusion as he continuously moved lower. She watched as he nipped along the skin of her stomach, the corner of her mouth twitching as he seemingly, almost playfully, gently bit the piercing in her belly and glanced up at her. She rolled her eye for a moment before he sent another current through the metals, and she let out a soft whimper. It wasn't until he let go and moved to kiss and bite around her hips and thighs that she realized, her head shooting up with slight panic as she felt his lips against the inside of her thigh.

"H-Hey-"

"Quiet Emmy." He purred, the tone of his voice making her freeze. She watched as he kissed the inside of her thigh once more, her head landing back against the cushion with a shuddering gasp as he bit along the sensitive skin. Her hand flew over her mouth as he moved closer to her core, whimpering as she felt his tongue gliding along the skin.

"K-Karl, wait-" she whimpered through her fingers, only to take in a sharp, gasping breath as she finally felt his tongue against her, moving slowly as if savoring her reactions.

She tried closing her legs, though found it nearly impossible due to his hands forcing them to stay where they were. She could almost feel the bruises form where his fingers pressed against the skin, though that feeling was second in her mind compared to the pleasured sparks up her spine with each movement of his tongue. She couldn't help as her hand left the sheets, finding its way to his head as he played with the small piercing through the bundle of nerves, sending small electric pulses through her body once more. She felt the vibration as he chuckled against her, gripping his hair with small gasps and whimpers as his tongue delved into the warmth. Her back arched slightly with each movement, her thighs shaking from the new sensations. Why did it feel so good...?! She let out a long whine as the electric pulses continued, eventually biting down on her hand as to attempt to prevent any further noises. She could feel the tightness return as his teeth grazed against the piercing, and suddenly her hand was gripping his hair in a fist as she came again, a multitude of muffled whines and mutterings of his name escaping her mouth while her back arched. She barely heard the grunt he gave as he was pressed against her, not even realizing as he was able to pull himself away.

She flinched as Heisenberg reached up to grab her wrist, her body shaking slightly as he managed to nudge her hand away. He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it out, rising to loom over her once more as he licked his lips. Where the actual FUCK did he learn that?!

"That hurt, Emmy." He purred, keeping his grip on her wrist as she finally looked at him. Her face was red as she panted, her legs trembling as they rested against his hips once more. "Good girl."

He smirked as she stared up at him, his tongue swiping over his teeth before he leaned over and yanked her other wrist from her mouth, pinning both of them to the cushion beside her head. Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden movement, her eye widening as it met his. There was a moment of silence as they held a stare down, only ending as he shifted her wrists into one hand and used the other to undo the belt and button of his own pants in one swift motion. It took her a moment to register the movement, keeping eye contact once the full realization of just how far- and how fast- this was about to go hit her. She squirmed slightly in his grip as she glanced down, nearly breaking said grip, only to get caught in yet another rough kiss as she felt something warm press against her thighs. She could taste herself on his tongue, and somehow it made her arousal worse...

She let out a whining groan as she was rubbed against, her back arching once more at the new feeling, only to give a surprised and somewhat pained cry against his lips as she felt him enter her quickly and fully with a grunt. She gasped into the kiss as he returned his hand to her neck, her back arching into his chest and her thighs once again tightening around his waist. More of the pleasurable feeling shot up her spine as he moved a few times, pressing against her roughly as she gave small whimpers and whines. It felt... good... so good. Why did it feel good? Why did all of this just feel GOOD? What the hell was she missing from her old life that didn't include THIS?? She couldn't help the small moan she gave as the kiss was broken, and he shoved his hips against hers. He tightened his fingers around the sides of her neck with a sly smirk as he stayed where he was. Although the glint in his eyes may have looked malicious, his actions proved otherwise as he allowed her a few seconds to relax.

"Am I being too rough with you, Emmy?" He asked, his smirk widening into a grin as she mindlessly shook her head, though it was more like a few twitches.

"N-... No... N-Not rough enough..." she growled with a challenging tone, though her voice was still light. She was met with a dangerous chuckle.

"Good."

Emelia glared up at him with a somewhat clouded eye, her breaths coming in light pants that turned into gasps and moans as his movements continued, growing faster and harder with each passing second. She struggled to keep her voice down despite the feeling of each thrust sending sparks into her chest. The sounds of his low grunts and deep breathing weren't helping, she found, and it made it much more difficult to control her own pleasured noises. She was then aware of a low laugh from him.

"Ah... I didn't think... you could sound like THIS, Emmy...~" He purred, his grip on her neck tightening. She opened her mouth, nearly flinching as she let out more soft moans.

"S-... S-Shut...." she tried, though was unable to finish any thought with her gasps and whines.

Her arms struggled in his grip, shaking with each thrust, only to suddenly be freed as he let go in order to take ahold one of her hips. She mindlessly reached for him almost immediately, gripping the edge of his shirt with one hand and grabbing the necklaces around his neck with the other in order to yank him down. She was rewarded with another rough kiss, her head being jerked up as he kept a hand around her throat. She let go of the necklaces, instead reaching under his shirt, her fingers trailing over his own scars until her nails dug into his back. There was an internal satisfaction as she heard Heisenberg give a surprised grunt, only to give a yelping cry as he suddenly pulled away to replace his hand around her neck with his teeth.

Small sparks of pain made their way through her shoulder as his teeth broke the skin, though they seemed to amplify the feeling as the thrusts became rough and quick. She finally reached her other hand around and under the shirt he wore, her nails dragging down the skin of his back as her moans and whines grew louder.

"F-... FuCK...! K-Karl...!!" She said suddenly, her voice cracking somewhat as she was met with a possessive growl and the slight smell of fresh blood as he let go of her neck. She couldn't help but gasp as she felt his cheek against hers, his beard scratching against her skin as his lips nearly against her ear.

"You're MINE, Emelia..." He growled.

Emelia felt as more pulsing currents were sent through her piercings, and she couldn't help but cry out as the pulses caught her by surprise. Her muscles tensed, her nails tearing at Heisenbergs back as she felt the waves of a strong orgasm, making her body shake and her legs flex around his waist. Her thighs tightened at his hips, halting him enough to keep him where he was as she came, but not long enough to stop him entirely. He let out a low growl as he kept up his movements until he slammed against her hard enough to move her up a few inches. She gave a gasping moan as could feel his muscles shudder and a strange warmth in the pit of her stomach as he filled her, and her back arched against his chest as she nearly hugged him to her for dear life.

There was small silence as their movement ceased, each breathing heavily. Emelia held onto the man over her as if it meant life or death, momentarily forgetting her irritation around him in the first place as there was a sudden feel of lips along her neck in a multitude of small kisses. They were gentle against her bruised skin... The odd tickle of the facial hair made the corner of her mouth twitch as she panted, unintentionally laying her head to the side for him as she very slowly but surely relaxed. Her irritation only slightly returned as she heard a chuckle from her neck, and she glanced down.

"Th' bloody hell is so funny...?" She muttered, unable to keep the lightness from her voice. She watched as he looked up from her neck, a sly smile across his still bloody lips.

"You're adorable, Emmy." He said simply, making her groan and start to push him away.

"Piss off...!!" She growled, only to gasp as he suddenly leaned over her with a chuckle, nearly being pushed into the mattress again as he finally slipped off the button-up shirt.

"Precious little doll, you didn't seem to hear what I said."

'Doll' ...? Emelia stared at him, now also shirtless, taking in the rest of the scars she had never seen. She could feel her face heat up more as he leaned over her, holding himself up with his hands on either side of her shoulders.

"Wha-" she started, only to let out a gasping yelp as he gave a single hard thrust to silence her.

"I told you, Emelia. You're mine. In more ways than one, it seems." He nearly purred, leaning down to press his nose to hers.

Her single eye widened as he grinned, only to be met with a quick, relatively gentle kiss. It took a moment for her to calm down before she returned it, staying where she was and secretly holding herself to that proclamation. She didn't want to admit it... She never would. But somehow, despite how he could be, this made her feel... wanted. It was an odd feeling, and one she knew she would be hesitant on getting used to. But she still hated him... Right?

She gave a soft whine as he pulled away, physically removing himself from her with a shuddering breath. She let out a whimper as she relaxed back against the covers, feeling an odd coldness and even a slight sense of loneliness as his weight left the mattress. She opened her eye with confusion and watched as his pants were fixed before her vision trailed up his back to see the bloody scratches she had left.

"Whoops..." she muttered, earning a chuckle and a glance back.

"I'll let you relax for now, Emmy. I don't wanna break you just yet..." He joked, nodding to the shirt he had left. "Use that for now, we'll get you another shirt later."

She couldn't help but smirk, her face red.

"Done already...?" She asked, her smirk faltering heavily as he glanced back with an odd mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Never said I was, Doll. This is for your sake."

Emelia watched as he began to walk to the jacket he had left, but she felt... sad. Not because he had stopped. Not even because she almost wished they would keep going immediately... No, it was another reason she couldn't quite place with every step away he took. She carefully pushed herself to sit up, wincing at the tenderness that settled between her legs before reaching for her discarded jumpsuit. But she only grabbed the simple boxers she had, managing to slip them on with minimal issue. She saw him slow his movements as she managed to stand, her knees just the slightest bit weak. Holding on to a support beam on the wall, she shakily made her way over to him as he glanced at her with an odd curiosity. She didn't care if she was entirely naked save for underwear, simply covering her chest with her arm as she reached for him. She stumbled into his back, feeling his muscles tense as her arms slowly wrapped around his torso, her fingers lightly drifting along the hair and scars on his chest.

"Don't you dare leave me like this, Heisenberg..." she muttered, pressing the scarred half of her face against his back. She knew he could feel her trembling as her legs threatened to collapse on her.

There was a moment of silence before she heard and felt him chuckle.

"You really are an odd one, Emmy..." He chuckled, turning his head to glance at her over his shoulder before giving a dramatic sigh. "Have it your way, then."

Emelia jumped as he suddenly turned in her arms, her cheeks going red as his face was suddenly mere inches away from hers. What was she DOING? Why she acting this way? She didn't know... But she was pleasantly stunned as she felt his hand raise and nudge her chin gently. However, instead of it going around her neck again as she expected, he simply caressed her cheek, avoiding the scars around her missing eye; Even he knew she hated them being touched, and now didn't seem like the best time to annoy her. In fact, he almost enjoyed her more when she was calm like this... She couldn't help but feel relaxed as the rough pad of his thumb brushed over her skin. Relaxed enough to settle her cheek into his hand fully, ever so slightly trying to remind herself that this wasn't who he was all the time. This was temporary... But she could do temporary.

"... Don't tell anyone..." She muttered suddenly, keeping her hold on him as he leaned back against the shelving next to them to stay comfy. He chuckled once more.

"Who do I have to tell, Emmy?" He chimed. She stared at him for a moment before shrugging, laying her head against his chest.

It was a moment of domesticity that she vaguely remembered wanting as human... Something about someone being close physically always seemed tantalizing, yet there was no way to achieve it here... Or so she thought. If she could just have more time like this... Though she knew it wasn't meant to last, especially not with him... But for now, she appreciated it. It wasn't until her senses focused on the machinery noises outside of the room that she gave a sigh, reluctantly pulling away from him.

"I should get back to work, then..." she mumbled, taking a few steps away, her fingers dragging along his chest before she turned, not seeing Heisenbergs face as he watched her walk away and run a hand through her hair to push it out of her face.

She made her way over back to the bed-like cushion, absent-mindedly picking the button-up shirt he had been wearing and slipping it on, herself. She'd take it since he offered, and because she didn't necessarily feel like hunting down new clothing. It was only slightly loose over her frame, being only slightly smaller than him in stature, and she felt his eyes burrow into her back as she buttoned it up. Quiet footsteps approached her from behind, causing her to jump with a small gasp as arms surrounded her while the shirt was only halfway buttoned. Heisenberg pulled her back against his chest, one hand on her hip and the other around the front of her waist.

"What are you-" she started, only to stop as the arm around her waist raised to nudge the collar of the shirt off her shoulder, placing gentle bites and kisses along the skin as soon as it was shown. Small shivers went up her spine with the movements, and she let out a wavering breath in attempts to not laugh from the tickling of his beard. "K-Karl, stop-"

"I never told you to get back to work..." He said simply, his now semi-serious tone interrupting he train of thought and causing any hint of laughter to disappear. He trailed kisses and bites to her jaw and her ear once more. "Indulge me then, Emmy, and I'll let you go. Let me have my fill."

Her face fell slightly. His fill... Did he mean...?

"W-What, be your toy until you're done?" She huffed, turning her head slightly to face him. Though he was on her blind side, she could almost feel the grin.

"Well, when you put it that way..." he started, letting his hands wander. One trailed under the shirt slightly, his fingers drifting below her belly, while the other found and gave a gentle squeeze to a now exposed breast from the shirt being moved before resting over the large scar. "Yes. But don't worry. I take care of my toys... I said I wouldn't break you so soon. And besides..." he pressed another gentle kiss behind her ear, "You seem like you want more. Am I wrong?"

Emelia took a shaky breath as she felt the odd sensations once more, reaching to hold onto his forearms as his hands moved. Well, of COURSE he was right... She knew there wasn't much else she would have to do around the factory today anyway. She worked constantly, and the factory ran relatively smoothly without her. She even came here for a break, anyway... And, despite her feelings about him, what the man had just shown her was... Well, her legs still held a slight wobble. To say she wanted more was an understatement. And so, she have a small huff and looked forward, tilting her head to allow him at her neck.

"... Go ahead..." she muttered, her voice an embarrassed tone. She felt his grin against her neck taking a breath as he gave a small, rough bite.

"You won't regret it, Emmy."

She gave a small, joking snort.

"I'll believe you if you can prove it, Karl..."

"Oh, even after what I've just shown you?" He played, his lips pressing to her neck once more. She said nothing, only somewhat easing against his chest with a huff. She rolled her eye as he chuckled, though her breath caught in her chest as his hand left the scar, letting his fingers trail up and along her throat. "I didn't think I would have to prove anything."

"You never do..." she muttered suddenly, only to close her mouth as she felt him freeze behind her. Where the hell did that come from...??

"Oh?"

She was silent for a moment before clearing her throat.

"Th-That, ah..." she started, only stopping as he grabbed her throat and pulled her to him roughly.

"What?" He growled, ever so slightly moving them forward. She took shaky steps, following his direction.

"N-Not... what I... mean..." she finally managed, glancing down with a quick breath as she felt the edge of the work table against the front of her thighs.

"Hm. What did you mean then, Emmy?"

"I..." she tried, though was unable to find her voice. What was this rush of excitement...?? The tone of his voice sent chills down her spine as he nibbled at her shoulder while awaiting a response. She then decided to just speak. What could go wrong?

"I-I mean...." she managed, gaining a smirk and holding onto his arm. She could feel as he tilted his head in curiosity. "You haven't quite done so thus far, how am I to believe you could...?" she continued, feeling his grip tighten. Good. She pulled away from him slightly to aggravate him. "You always need to prove yourself Karl, you won't get far without it-"

She was stopped with a surprised grunt as she was suddenly shoved down against the table, giving a surprised grunt of pain as her chin hitting it with a light *thunk* . He kept his hand between her shoulders, using his weight to keep her down as she moved to rub her jaw. Her hand was then suddenly yanked away as he twisted her arm behind her back, earning an uncomfortable grunt.

"Bloody hell- H-hey-!"

"I don't give proof, huh?" He growled suddenly, leaning down over her to talk into her ear. "I assure you, Emelia, I have all the proof you need."

She opened her mouth to speak, only to shut it with a surprised noise as he suddenly bit down on her neck and yanked her towards him. The backs of her thighs hit his hips, and she let out a small, surprised whimper. He slipped his fingers under the waistline of her underwear with his free hand, taunting her by slowly dragging them down. There was a sudden spark at her piercings once more while her lower half squirmed, and she couldn't help but give a small, moaning whine as she felt the sparks increase. Waves of pleasure traveled up her spine, causing her back to arch into the table somewhat and nearly bite her bottom lip until it bled. Small goosebumps covered her skin as she felt her underwear finally fall to her ankles. It wasn't until she felt him adjust himself behind her that she attempted to look to the side, only to be met with a growl and his teeth digging into the skin more.

She could smell the blood as it began to seep from between her skin and his teeth... It made her head swim as she finally felt him rub against her roughly, the small sparks of pain from his teeth adding to the odd pleasure she was feeling. He removed his teeth from her neck for a moment to speak into her ear, sending more shivers down her spine.

"I've got your 'proof' right here." He purred, his smirk nearly audible. He shoved her down again once more. "HERE!!"

He gave a rough thrust forward as he spoke, filling her quickly once again and earning a yelping moan; but this time, he didn't stop. A mixture of pain and pleasure racked her body as he kept up the rough thrusts, simultaneously twisting her arm more behind her back to hold her there. She couldn't stop the now loud moans and whines she gave as she panted, nearly digging her nails into the metal table supporting her. She could feel the pulses of her muscles threatening to tighten and mutate as she was slammed into nearly mercilessly, her fingers creating small dents in the material as she forced her mutation back once she felt a familiar flutter in her chest. He seemed to notice, letting out a low chuckle through his own grunts and growls.

It wasn't long before she felt the sudden waves of an orgasm, making her give a loud cry as she shifted under him, pressing back against him for a moment. She reached forward quickly and gripped the edge of the table, easily denting and nearly crushing it in her grip with light cries as he continued his thrusts through the tightening spasms. Her body shook while he didn't slow down. Instead, he increased his movements, and she almost felt tears come to her eye with the overwhelming sensation.

Her other arm was suddenly freed as he moved to grip both of her hips, leaning down to bite at her shoulder once more with low grunts and growls. He kept going... Oh god, he kept going. She couldn't speak, the only noises leaving her throat being whines and cries. She couldn't help but lean into his jaw, almost begging him for more despite the overstimulation. Her neck was bitten multiple times as if she were being marked, each bite breaking the skin with ease. Beads of blood slowly dripped from the wounds and over her skin every time he let go, only to feel his teeth elsewhere. She felt tightness below her belly once more as she let out a wavering cry of his name, only to be met with slower thrusts and a growl at her ear.

"What do you want, Emelia?" He growled, his voice low and strained. She couldn't help but squirm and push back against him with whining whimpers as he slowed more, quickly becoming frustrated and seemingly desperate. No... No, why was he stopping... Why was he slowing down?!

"N-.. N-No...!! D-Don't- fuck- D-Don't slow-...!!" She managed, earning a dangerous chuckle.

"Tell me Emelia, or I swear to God I'll stop right NOW." He played. She could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke. She knew this was amusing to him... It was payback for her insults. Her body shook out of desperation and anger as the thrusts slowed considerably, and she put her forehead against the table with a growling whine. He held her hips in place against the table to prevent her from moving against him. She couldn't take it anymore... She wouldn't even try to fight it. It was as if she were being denied a prize, and she hated it already.

"F-Fuck- I-" she started, barely able to get words out, "Y-YOU Heisenberg, you bloody idiot!!! I want YOU!!!" She finally yelled, her voice cracking somewhat. "J-Just... D-Don't... Don't FUCKING stop!!! Fuck- PLEASE!!"

She could almost feel the pride-filled smirk he gave in knowing he had won, but she didn’t care... Her little outburst gave her slight confidence as he chuckled, his last breath coming as a low growl.. She jumped as she suddenly felt an arm around her waist, roughly pulling her back towards him as his other hand reached to pin and hold hers as if keeping her in place. A wavering whine left her lips as he gave a possessive growl, looming over her with obvious intent.

"Good girl." He grumbled, only giving her a chance to inhale before returning to the powerful, near brutal thrusts from before, pulling her to him with each movement.

She didn't even attempt to hide her voice again, her cries and moans growing louder with each passing second. She almost didn't want the feeling to end, allowing herself to melt into him as her back arched into his chest.

"D-Don't... D-Don't stop... F-FUCK- Don't stop...!!!" She repeated, her voice wavering with uneven pants and gasps.

"You. Are. MINE." He suddenly growled in her ear, not letting her respond before biting into her shoulder once more.

More electric pulses were sent through her piercings, nearly making her scream while gripping the hand over hers. The orgasm she felt then was strong, traveling through her body in waves and overstimulation as the pulses continued. The feeling was amplified as he kept moving for a few seconds, finally pressing her roughly against the table with a loud, wavering growl and swear as he came as well. She let out another gasping moan as she felt him twitch inside of her, shuddering with the light warmth she felt at the pit of her stomach.

The room was filled with the sound of their panting and deep breaths as their rode their highs, and Emelia finally relaxed against the table with a shaky, satisfied sigh while still panting. She felt... good. Great, actually... Very sore now, as well as numb, but good nonetheless. It was as if any frustration she felt had melted away with the thin layer of sweat on her body. She gave a quiet whimper as she felt Heisenberg shift somewhat. He removed his jaws from her shoulder, nudging her head and pressing his cheek against hers as his grip on her loosened to allow her to relax more.

"Are you alright, Emmy?" He asked quietly, his voice low and catching her off guard enough to flinch. She only made a small, confused noise as she glanced over. He chuckled, catching a glimpse of the residual pleasured tears that stained her cheek. He reached over, dragging his thumb over her skin to wipe them away. "Is that a yes?"

She kept her eye on him for a moment before giving a small nod and setting her head back on the table. She attempted to shift, but found her body was... unable to move. The numbness had begun to turn into the feeling of being a puddle, she found. Her muscles shook as she tried to push herself up, and she almost collapsed under him. He nearly laughed while kept his grip on her waist, keeping her upright while he watched in interest.

"Would you like some help?"

"N... N-No, I..." she tried, her voice quiet. There was silence for a moment before she gave a shaky sigh, putting her head down once more in defeat. "... y-yes..."

"I thought so." He chuckled, finally pulling himself away with a quiet grunt. She could hear the amusement in his voice. "Alright. Keep steady, now."

Emelia glanced back as he partially adjusted himself, not bothering to fully fix his pants before he let go of her waist. A small panic entered her chest as her legs began to collapse under her, barely able to use the table to keep herself up before she felt him at her side. Her body shook as she tried to lean up once more, reaching to hold on to Heisenbergs arm as he draped it across her shoulders. He didn't even flinch as she leaned her full weight on him, and he chuckled.

"Come on, then." He said, suddenly leaning down once she was fully off the table. She let out a surprised yelp as he swept his other arm behind her knees, bringing her up into a cradling position against his chest as she held onto him tightly. She tightened her grip more as he started to walk, her face red. "Something wrong?" He asked, amusement thick in his voice. She watched his movements, only somewhat relaxing as they neared the bed.

"N-No..." she replied quietly, slowly easing herself in a sitting position the tattered covers as he set her down, wincing again at the soreness she felt. While the fabrics weren't always the best for relaxing, right now they were comforting, and a godsend for her shaking muscles. She then jumped as he sat down himself before he laid beside her with a huff. She stared at him for a moment as he held his arm out for her. What was he doing...?

"Well?" He asked expectantly, raising a brow as she looked confused.

"... what?"

He rolled his eyes.

"You're wearing my shirt Emmy, the least you could do is lay down."

"What-" she started, only to look down. "O-Oh... um..." She had admittedly forgotten what she had been wearing, and sheepishly pulled the shirt over her now throbbing shoulders and neck. She then adjusted herself on the mattress with a quiet grunt. "Ok..."

"NOW you're embarrassed??" He asked, nudging her arm slightly. "Should I describe, in detail, what I just did to you?"

She glared at him and gave a small huff as she managed to lay down.

"Shut up..." she mumbled, somewhat begrudgingly cuddling onto his chest as he smirked.

"It was an honest question."

Emelia only grumbled in response, though relaxed as she felt his arm go around her. She adjusted her head on his chest, pausing as she felt a heartbeat. It was slow and rhythmic, lulling her into a relaxed breathing pattern. He glanced at her as her arm wrapped over his chest as well, though he froze as she mindlessly began to trace over some of the smaller scars over his skin. She watched her own fingers move, an amused smile creeping on her face as she felt him tense and relax at her touch. She tilted her head slightly as she heard a light grumbling from his chest, her fingers pausing. He shifted under her, and she looked up to meet his eyes.

"What...?" She asked, resuming the movements. She watched as his eyes traveled between her and her fingers multiple times, his breathing easy with small grumbles in each inhale.

"Nothing." He replied simply, only to lift his chin slightly in confusion as she moved her hand to the scar across his neck. She felt his breath hitch as she traced it, and he looked at her again. "What are you doing, Emmy?"

"Nothing." She copied, almost laughing as he rolled his eyes.

"Don't get soft on me now Emelia, just earlier you were threatening me." He snorted.

"I still can if you would rather that."

"Hm. No, I'd rather fuck you again."

She went silent for a moment, her face heating up once more with embarrassment. "You said you wouldn't break me." She huffed.

Heisenberg gave a chuckle before turning to face her, gaining a smirk when she looked at him in surprise.

"I won't. I can't, actually." He said matter-of-factly, suddenly pushing her shoulder to have her lay on her back. She jumped, staring up at him in a stunned silence. "That doesn't mean I can't try. I haven't had that much fun in years, and I know you're durable. So am I."

"I-I can tell..." Emelia managed, clearing her throat slightly. Well, she knew he had a point... Despite being sore, she still felt oddly energized... Sure, the light exhaustion was there, but she knew she would have gone back to work immediately if she were physically able to. And she had to admit... She enjoyed this. It felt... normal. Almost.

She kept her eye on him for a moment before taking a breath. Was she really debating on this? The reality of the current situation hit her full force like Sturm on a rampage. She was silent for another moment before gulping slightly.

"What... What is... 'this' , exactly...?" she asked, her voice quiet. Karl drew back slightly, caught off guard by the question.

"Excuse me...??"

"I... You... You piss me off, Heisenberg..." she started, her arms resting at the sides of her head. Each movement of her shoulders resulted in a dull pain from his teeth, and his mouth twitched as he realized. She paused as she saw the smallest... tiniest twinge of regret in his eyes. But she shook her head, looking down at herself.

"I don't... I've been here for... only a short time compared to you, Karl... And now I... We do... THIS..." she continued, looking back up at him as he held his place over her. "What are we doing...?"

It was his turn to stay silent, obviously contemplating his answer. She had seen the same look on his face when discussing important factory matters... It almost made her feel better.

"What do you want from it?" He asked finally, tilting his head with a light shrug. She blinked.

"... What?"

He rolled his eyes, giving a small smirk.

"Ah, who's asking the hard questions now?" He played, chuckling as she glared at him. "I don't quite care what this leads to, I know what my goals are." He explained. "What are yours? What do YOU want out of it?"

"I..." she started, looking to the side. "... I don't know."

"Then don't worry about it!"

"But I-"

"Look, Emelia. If you can't figure it out, then focus on something else. Is it really worth wasting the energy if you don't know right away?" He asked.

She was silent. He... He was right.

"That... That's the most intelligent thing I've ever heard you say."

She nearly laughed at his insulted expression.

"Hey-"

"I'm joking, Metalhead..." She sighed with a small smile. There was silence for a moment before she finally gave a huff. "Just... For now just..."

"Come on, we don't have all day." Heisenberg joked, smirking as she glared at him.

"... Shut up you daft idiot." She growled finally, reaching to yank him down by his necklaces.

The movement startled him, but he seemed to know exactly what to do as his lips met hers with a light chuckle. The kiss was... gentle, oddly enough, but she relaxed once more under him. Light shivers traveled up her spine as she felt his fingers travel along her skin. The shirt was fully unbuttoned once again and nudged to her sides, and she took a deep breath as she felt the air on her chest. She only whined as her legs were moved, making him pause. There was a soreness between them from his roughness beforehand, sending small waves of a low, pulsing pain through her body. He gave a questioning hum against her lips, and she spoke against his.

"Sore..." she admitted quietly, feeling his amused smile.

"Good." He replied simply, adjusting himself and his pants to rest between her thighs. Emelia let out a quiet whimper as she was rubbed against, her legs shaking against his hips and her arms reaching out to his onto and wrap around his shoulders.

The dull throbbing sensation continued as he pushed into her once more, earning a somewhat pained whine as her back arched. It hurt... But the feeling lessened to a light sting after a few seconds, and she took lighter breaths. She couldn't help but wonder as he stayed still, his words and question playing in her mind as he returned to his position of leaning on his forearms over her. What DID she want from this...? Did she truly wish for any sort of stability from this? Or just survival? Maybe this was the first and last time she'd experience this, or maybe it would be regular. Did she WANT it to be regular, though? She didn't know... All she knew was that his touch swung wildly between rough and gentle every time he touched her, even before this. He always switched between harsher interactions and kind ones, making her angry and thankful at the same time. And yet, when he touched her NOW... Even while over the table, it was almost careful, hesitant to push her too far even while leaving bruises in her skin. Somehow, while sharing this intimacy, he was a perfect mix of the two. And somehow, it calmed her and even gave a small hope in the back of her mind.

Her thoughts stopped, letting out a breathy moan into the kiss as he started moving, this time at a slow pace. This time she kept her arms around him, hugging him close enough for their bare chests to press against each other. Her breaths and moans came from a different sort of pleasure, almost willing to believe that sharing this with him would allow some sort of normalcy. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he set a careful, hard rhythm, one of his arms moving down to press his hand against her stomach.

A single second passed before Heisenberg sent a low pulse of electricity through her body and piercings, causing her back to arch as she pulled away from the kiss with a gasping whine. She felt as he lowered his head with a low groan, starting to kiss and nibble along her jaw. Her nails dug into his back as his movements increased somewhat, creating more scratches to match the ones he already had. Her voice came out in quiet whines and moans into his ear as she clung to him. Sure this was making the soreness worse, but she almost couldn't tell between the low pulses and thrusts coming from the man. Her body shook while simultaneously encouraging more. She WANTED more... She already admitted as much to herself. Another whine escaped her lips as he nibbled just below her ear.

"Fuck, Emmy...~" he nearly purred into her ear, lifting her hips slightly and switching to smaller quick thrusts.

"K-... K-Karl-! F-FUCK-" she managed, her voice breaking somewhat as she allowed her legs to loosen at his sides to bring him closer. She whimpered as he suddenly leaned up, her nails digging and sliding down to his biceps before gripping them as she felt a familiar tightness below her belly; he could feel it, too.

Emelia suddenly held her breath in a surprised, wavering gasp as he slid his hand up her body from the belly piercing, his fingers dragging along the large scar on her chest before lingering and pressing against the sides of her neck. Her whines and moans continued, even as his hand moved higher to her jaw. She then jumped as his thumb pushed past her parted lips, resting on her tongue. She attempted to look up at him, but found it difficult to even keep her eye open... Heisenberg gave a low chuckle at the sight, pushing on her jaw slightly. He didn't even have to say a word as her mouth nearly closed around his thumb. Her whines and whimpers grew louder and her grip on him tightened, and she could only gasp as he pulled his thumb from her mouth and replaced it with his own.

The kiss was returned instantaneously, followed by her wavering, now muffled cry as she finally came once more. He grunted into the kiss as she tightened around him, her legs wrapping around his waist once more while her back arched. She wrapped her arms fully around his shoulders with overstimulated whines as his pace quickened before he finally let out his own wavering moan against her lips. She joined him with her own moan as he shoved his hips against hers, feeling the warmth enter her as he rode out his own orgasm with shaking muscles. God, it felt... It felt good... The warmth and twitching from him kept her whines going as they panted, her body shaking under him.

Both were silent for several moments, the kiss lessening to gentle movements before breaking.

"D-... D-Damn..." Emelia nearly squeaked, her head rolling to the side as her jaw was nuzzled.

"Hm. Are you alright?" Heisenberg asked, earning a small nod.

"... gonna be sore..." she replied quietly, relaxing somewhat as he kept his face against hers. He chuckled.

"You wanted it."

"Shush..." she huffed. Her breathing eased, feeling his smile against her skin. This was... Nice, she had to admit... An uncomfortable whine left her lips as he began to push himself up and away, only pausing as her legs twitched around him to keep him there. "N-No... stay..." she whined, watching as he raised a brow. "... P-Please..."

"I've never heard you say 'please' this much." He joked, earning a light glare. But he simply returned to his place over her with an amused chuckle, nearly laying on her.

She was relaxed despite nearly his entire weight on her torso, though she had no issues. He was really warm... She could almost purr with the warmth both on top of and inside her, the feeling relaxing her to the point of her limbs going lax around him. She felt him chuckle against her skin, taking a breath as his lips found her bruised neck. But her mind wandered elsewhere, and she found herself pressing her cheek to his.

"Can we... Not talk about this...?" She asked quietly, earning a confused hum as he glanced at her.

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"J-Just... Um..." she tried, turning her head to look at him. "M-Maybe this could be... just... stress relief...?"

She jumped as Heisenberg shifted, his face now hovering over hers with their noses together.

"Just stress relief?" He asked, amusement dancing in his eyes as her face reddened. "Is that what you want?"

She simply nodded, her fingers traveling over small scars that covered his upper back and shoulders. 'For now...' she thought. Wait, 'for now'...?? Did she really mean that...? She was pulled out of her thoughts as he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.

"Then so be it." Heisenberg said simply, meeting her gaze. She stared up at him before nodding and taking a breath. But he moved before she had a chance to even think, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Hold on."

"What-" she tried, only to cling to him with a surprised yelp as he pushed against the mattress to lean up with her against his chest. She let out a light whine as she was shifted on him, small sparks shooting up her spine as she was settled against his hips while he sat and leaned back against the wall. He couldn't help but smirk as she let out a whimper, her legs twitching. "Better?"

"I..." she tried, though couldn't manage words as she felt him shift against her to make himself comfortable. So she simply nodded before leaning against his chest.

It was his turn to freeze as she nuzzled to his neck, giving a pleased sigh as his arms hesitantly went around her waist. She relaxed against him, enjoying the warmth he gave and the feeling of his arms around her.

"... You're warm..." she said quietly, earning a surprised chuckle.

"I would almost hope so." He replied, reaching up and under the shirt she still wore to drag his fingers along small scars on her back. He smiled as she relaxed. "I'm going to assume you're not moving any time soon?"

He nearly laughed as she nodded against his shoulder.

"Fair assumption..." she mumbled, closing her eye.

While she wasn't necessarily tired, there was a sliver of exhaustion in her chest. She had to admit, there was still pain from the bite marks that now covered her neck and shoulders, and the soreness of her legs came as a dull throbbing. But she oddly didn't mind... She held her breath as she realized her enjoyment of this. The touches, the intimacy... Even the dull pains she felt. Maybe she didn't even mind HIM...

No, no... She DID mind him. Did she...? She still found him infuriating... But the way he held her now was... Well, it made her question quite a bit.

She finally sighed, relaxing fully against him. She focused on his touches against her back instead of the thoughts in her mind, willfully ignoring them for once. She'd enjoy what she had for now... Her attention went to the sounds of his heart and distant machinery, letting them lull her into a light sleep. She didn't NEED she sleep at the moment, but to her, it was almost perfect.

She only hoped it would stay that way.

[dragon-of-dreams]

Puzzling

My Masterlist

Part 5 to Cracking a Code

1;  2;  3;  4

Pairing: dark!Steve Rogers x Reader (fem)

Warnings: Swearing, gaslighting, stalking, aftermath of noncon, noncon touching, caregiving, but like by Steve, so not really, self-harm references (previous chapter, not premeditated), discussion of eating

Summary: Steve takes you home to “take care” of you.

A/n: I’m not super happy with this chapter… and maybe I’ll redo it sometime in the future, but I just wanted to give you an update. Sorry, that everything takes so long!

Word count: 2,300

The rest of the drive passed in a blur. Steve’s hand hardly left your thigh and you let him. You were so exhausted, you didn’t have the energy to fight him off anymore. You felt yourself retreating into your body, away from the reality of being groped in the fancy sports car of America’s bravest hero.

Steve helped you up the steps to your apartment. You’re entire body was shaking, leaving you on unsteady feet. If you didn’t know better you’d say you were coming down with a fever. But the reason for the shivers coursing through you was so much larger. Not something a few pills could fix. Steve gently led you into your home, almost as if he owned the place, deposited you on the couch, and covered you in a blanket. As he tucked you in, his hands respectful and his touch kind you surfaced for a brief second out of the hole of despair his comment in the car had put you in.

“There you are, angel.” Steve smiled as he noticed how your eyes started to focus a bit. “I’ll make you something to eat. I’ll be right back.” With that, he leaned in and placed the gentlest kiss on your forehead, before retreating to your kitchen. You watched him rummage around in the tiny space adjoining your living room. He looked at ease, at home, and oh so loving. Did yesterday really happen? you wondered. There they were again. Those thoughts you had to brandish all day yesterday as well. You started to stare off into the middle distance; once more slipping away from reality and the physical pain left in your body. You heard Steve tut slightly, the fridge door opening and closing, then the same sound from a bunch of your cabinet doors. Just as you wanted to call out to him, to ask if he needed help, a robotic response drilled into you by your mother, Steve appeared before you almost as if out of thin air. His gait as silent as any other predator’s.

“Darling,” he sounded concerned, “did you eat yet?”

You looked up at him, doe-eyed. “I.. uh… I must have. I have some overnight oats in the fridge, so if there are only three glasses in there, then yeah.” To be honest you couldn’t remember, nothing made sense.

“There’s four, darling… You really gotta eat breakfast! It’s important to keep your strength up, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah… I usually do. I promise” Why do I not wanna make him sad? Why do I want him to be proud of me? You thought bewildered, as you looked into Steve’s worried eyes before all semblance of structured thought left you again to the tide of confusion washing over you and pulling you under.

“Ok, babe, I trust you. I’ll make some now, okay? You just sit tight.” All you could do was nod. It was like it was all happening to someone else. You weren’t really here. You were so far away and so present at the same time that it hurt.

As Steve left you your mind went to war with itself.

Steve wasn’t a good guy. He wasn’t the hero on those posters, was he? But he was making you breakfast, he tucked you in. He sent Bucky to check on you. No… No, he sent Bucky to make sure you didn’t go to the police. Right? Right.

You could feel your mind shut off, drawing you down with it. All that happened, Steve’s non-linear behavior pushing you over the edge. Nothing made sense.

You barely noticed as Steve fed you breakfast, bite by bite, all that registered somewhere deep within you was his calm, deep guiding voice: “One more bite, there you go, good girl” all his encouragement mushing together in your brain, a soothing sensation flowing through your pain-addled brain.

After breakfast, you could feel Steve manipulate your body, as he wrapped himself around you and put on your favorite movie. As you lay there engulfed in the arms of this giant man, accompanied by the sounds of the movie you had watched a million times, you slowly started to become aware of yourself again. The body heat was so soothing and Steve’s deep humming voice pushed the fear that had kept you paralyzed further and further away. Making way for a seething rage, fickle but growing. As you tensed and readjusted your limbs Steve leaned forwards and kissed your temple. “I knew you were still in there, angel. I made some tea. It should still be hot. I put it in a thermos. Let’s talk okay?” Steve carefully helped you sit, every touch his, stoking the anger burning through you. Then, oblivious to the shift in your mood, he got up to grab the tea and cups as you looked around as if you were seeing your place for the first time. It no longer held the feeling of safety that comes with any good home. All you could see was Steve controlling you, in the TV that was slightly turned, the smell of his cologne on your couch, the dirty pans in the sink.

When Steve came back, your head was much clearer and you carefully reached for your cup and made sure to keep your distance from Steve as subtly as you could. Whatever was to come, was going to be important.

“You know darling, you will have to be nicer to Bucky. He’s only trying to help when I can’t be there. New York is dangerous, always has been. No one knows that better than me and Buck. He texted me, saying you were really rude on the train this morning, and quite frankly, darling, I’m disappointed that I even have to say this, but you have to appreciate what we do for you, okay?” Steve’s voice is calm, collected, and rational. There is nothing but honest concern in it for a moment it disrupts the anger building within you. “It’s time to play nice with Bucky now, okay? Be nice to him, maybe even as nice as you have been for me, understand?”

It’s the last sentence that sets you off, Steve’s expectant gaze, belittling you, that makes you blow your lid.

“What? What are you talking about? Play nice? I wasn’t being nice to you! I don’t want your protection or your attention, or Bucky’s for that matter!” Your voice is rising, as you grip your cup of tea so tight its heat sears your palms. “Get out of my life!” you yell. Then like a bucket of cold water realization sets in. Every muscle in Steve’s body tightens, you see his body expand with the change, looming over you, blacking out the window. You expect Steve to yell, beat you up, but when you dare to look up at his face, it is almost passive, but there is danger burning beneath his façade.

“I understand this is difficult for you.” Steve’s voice turns harder with every word. You notice the missing pet name like a slap to your face. “But I am getting pretty tired of this conversation. You need to rain in that attitude of yours, okay? Because I won’t tolerate you being a spoiled brat who doesn’t see what’s best for them. I’m looking out for you here, taking care of you, something you apparently struggle with,” with that Steve gestures at the remnants of your breakfast, the one he had to make for you, “and all I expect in return is some gratitude, towards me and towards Bucky. This is not up for discussion. And if you can’t behave, you’ll have to deal with the consequences, young lady. Is that understood?” By the end of his speech, Steve has risen to his feet, towering over you, his voice booming to fill your apartment, while you cower into the sofa. Your breathing is shallow and you are petrified. It feels too much like last night. When you didn’t have a choice either. And everything he was saying was making sense. New York was dangerous. And you really were terrible at feeding yourself correctly… Those oat thingies were just the newest thing you were trying in your never-ending quest to live more healthily… Usually, your job took preference over clean living. And Bucky hadn’t done anything to you either. He’d just been there to watch out for you… Steve, well… Steve really had done that, but he also held you today, when your brain shut down and made you food. He could have just left you at work, where you surely would’ve gotten nothing done or even caused trouble if you fucked up your work…

Shakily you nod and watch some of the tension leave Steve’s body and he crouches down in front of you. “Good, I knew you were smart like that. Now we can either go have a bath and soothe your body or you can freak out again and then I swear I’ll make you bear the consequences of your behavior for real this time. So what’s it gonna be, princess?”

You stare at him for a second. How is he so rational? Why does this all make sense? Authority has always been your weakness, and so you just nod because what the Captain says goes, and you learned that the hard way, and let Steve lead you to the bathroom. Maybe you will get to lay in his arms again and hear him praise you. It felt so good when he held you on the couch. You were safe in his arms. All you want is to be back in his embrace. Where the harsh reality can’t hurt you. So you allow Steve to strip you down, as hot water pours into your tub.

Suddenly Steve’s grip on your hip tightens painfully, as yanks your jeans off of you. You look down, scared, and find him staring at the bruises you must have caused yourself in the shower this morning when you were trying to wash the night away. “What is this? Explain, now!” he seethes and turns his scorching gaze towards you.

“I, when I showered, I, I just wanted to get clean…” you stammer.

“Clean? Clean! You hurt yourself! Jeez! How dare you do something like that to yourself? I really can’t let you out of my sight for one second, can I? Gotta watch you like a little kid!”

You feel a pang in your heart. You weren’t trying to be bad! You want to tell Steve, but he just turns off the water, grabs your upper arm, and drags you from the bathroom into your bedroom. As you stumble after him, you try to figure out what is happening.

“Steve?” you plead as he sits down on the bed and puts you over his lap.

“No, darling, not anymore. I have been way too kind to you so far, but apparently, the nice approach doesn’t work with you. So discipline is what you get.” He thunders, and then his hand is hitting your bum with enough force to make you scream. It happened so fast that your head is spinning.

As you lie across his lap everything felt like it’s wrapped in cotton. So much skin-to-skin contact fries your over-worked and touch-starved brain into submission as Steve’s hand is raining down on your ass, painting it crimson. You burst into tears without any control over yourself. “Steve,” you sob, “Steve please, I didn’t mean to, I swear, Steve!” and just as those words leave your mouth, he stops, picks you up, and hugs you close. Your nerve endings sing at the close contact and you sag into him, all tension leaving your body. His hands draw soothing circles on your back as he holds you tight.

“I got you baby.” Steve whispers as he settles you on the bed, “I know that hurt, but I needed you to see, you know?”

You cry and nod, burrowing into his hulking form hovering over you.

“I’ll make it better baby, I’ll make it all good, now,” Steve murmurs, as he leans in to kiss your forehead, while his right hand comes down and starts to play with your clit. “Oh darling, look at you! You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?” Only then do you register the slick coating your thighs, embarrassed you want to turn from him, but Steve cages you in. “It’s okay babe, no reason to be shy about it. There is nothing wrong with wanting your man. Really, it just shows that you understand my discipline with you. I’m real proud of you, angel, real proud.” He mutters as he spreads your lips and slips two fingers in. You can’t help but moan and arch into him.

Steve is nothing but kind and soft with you as he readjusts both of your bodies until he sinks into your heat, and you both moan in unison. “There we go, darling. See how good I can be for you? There we go.” As he starts moving, slow and deep within you peace settles over you. “I’ll make you forget all that pain, babe, it’ll all be gone in just a minute now.” His fingers are rubbing circles around your clit while he keeps murmuring sweet encouragements into your ears as you climb and climb towards an orgasm that is so deep that it leaves you boneless in Steve’s arms until he finishes with a broken grunt deep inside of you. As Steve settles you in his arms after you can’t remember the last time you felt this sated, as you drift into a deep sleep with Steve’s spend slowly trickling out of you. For a split second, before you fall asleep the horror of what is happening to you is clear in your mind, but then, thankfully, once more your exhaustion pulls you under.

[tenderdean]

i was talking to @andromedaskyline about how we just know whatever this ending is gonna be will be—well, a punch to the gut at best, but then it got us thinking about what kind of ending we want for dean and listen. listen.

when all is said and done, dean is alive and well, and he drives off into the sunlit horizon, and at the end of that road after however much time he needs to recover—

he starts a halfway house.

a halfway house for hunters, yes, but mostly for kids.

kids like claire and krissy and josephine, and alex and patience. kids that fell out of their normal lives and into hunting, with no feasible way back out. kids like dean.

it’s a place to crash and recuperate, where there’s a roof over their heads and a bed to call their own and a food-stocked pantry (it never runs low. dean never lets it run low.) but also: a waypoint.

dean’s still got sonny’s number, and if there’s one person who can help a kid find a future or a family or a purpose, it’s sonny. (it’s also dean—but he’s not used to advertising himself; it’ll always feel like overselling.) he sits up late at night working through college applications, scholarship applications, to help these kids through the nightmare that is lying convincingly on paperwork. he teaches these kids all the things he had to learn by his lonesome: how to cook, how to clean and mend clothes and treat wounds and hustle pool without getting decked in the face. and if they’re set on hunting—and he gets it, he does, because retiring was never an option for him when there’s lives to be saved, and he knows how—then he rolls up his sleeves and he teaches them.

hunters are a special kind of people, too rebellious for their own good, but he knows not to push. anyone can leave, but anyone can also stay. and when they do, he’s got things to tell them: the fastest way to decapitate a vamp and torch a wendigo, where to park their getaway car, which weapons to always have on hand and which to leave in the motel room, never to leave a case too early to miss something or late enough for the cops to get you. who to call when they do. basic skills, survival skills, but there’s nothing basic about them anymore when they’ve amounted to his entire life and he’s perfected them, had to perfect them to stay alive through it all.

he’s seen things, butted heads with things that go unmentioned in even the thickest of lore books, and he makes sure they know how to take all of them down, or else how to sweet-talk it back where it came from. he makes sure every kid knows the vampire antidote by heart. he also tells them about purgatory, and to think hard before mercy-killing anything into an existence of blood-slash-blood-no-rest-no-peace. some things can save themselves: if they want to, let them, but make sure they follow through. it’s about the saving, not the killing, and if the two of them become muddied you have to save yourself first.

dean has a bed for you, in that case. a bed and a mean burger and an ear tilted in your direction.

sometimes, sam calls: dean lets it go to voicemail, and that’s a gift to them both. dean will leave a voicemail of his own, in time. he’ll talk for however long he wants to, about whatever he wants to, answers the questions he likes and doesn’t answer those he doesn’t. talks about the kids, all the time, about how much he wishes he could’ve done this for kevin. there’s no interrupting in voicemail, no pointed glares, and the new routine is maybe the healthiest they’ve ever had.

he still goes out on hunts, as a teaching outing with the kids or to let off steam or because it’s an all hands on deck sort of thing. he can’t let himself get rusty, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t indulge: memory foam on his bed, a monthly road trip in the Impala planned and followed through with, a nice, slim pair of new boots perhaps more often than he needs. it’ll take a while, but someday in the future, he even goes to the beach. leaves the united states to do it, and comes back toasty and bug-bitten and about fifty tons lighter by way of his soul.

it evolves, as kids leave and new ones come in, because no one can leave dean’s house without his number. it becomes a hub. dean makes sure there’s a weapons arsenal in the garage, stakes of various obscure woods and silver bullets by the thousand and machetes besides. they’re all for borrowing—he’ll get new ones if some don’t return. the rest of the garage is divided: the impala and all that’s needed for her upkeep, and a workbench, a visor, a torch. he works on side-projects. lets his inner inventor out to play. EMFs that can detect hex bags, glasses that fracture the light just weirdly enough that no ghost can slip past the wearer unnoticed.

that’s how, in ten years, he’ll reinvent the Colt. he makes as many bullets as he can, and it’s expensive, slow work, but it’s the largest ace any of them have ever had up their sleeves and he wants it to be available to anyone who needs it.

knowledge isn’t something to hoard, not when it can save lives. and fuck if holding the world together with his bare hands more than once, more than twice, didn’t leave him with some unconventional wisdoms, some hard-earned truths and bits of trivia that could never end up being useful but also very well could. he’s prepared for that. makes sure his kids are prepared, too.

it’s not just the kids anymore, though, not when the hunters among them have branched out and met other hunters and the world knows his name, anyway, for all kinds of reasons, good and bad. his is not a name that slips someone’s mind when it’s mentioned in passing. hasn’t been for a long, long while, and that was never a good thing until this: until it just grows around him, not murder-plots or resentment or a heathy dose of fear of being associated with him, not like a snare drawing tight but a garden. (he keeps one, out back. hasn’t really got that much of a knack for it, but some of the kids like ripping roots out of dirt, and hell, so does he.)

it’s not replacing bobby. he doesn’t pretend to be the FBI superintendent or social services or someone’s lawyer, not when he’s not out there in a suit. when a phone rings, the person on the other end always knows his name.

it starts out messy, and it’ll always be messy, but it becomes more structured as they go. a demon case comes in: they’ve got people specializing in that, send them out. a rugaru: the same. and if it’s something that’s truly Out There, they send dean, and he’ll handle that. when he comes home, he’ll make sure that next time, it won’t be just him who knows what to do.

some kids start penning down comprehensive lore books, his dad’s journal with the volume turned up, with only the stuff that’s true and none of the fluff, the muddied waters. dean contributes to that more than he expects, at first, and suddenly they’re crowding and crawling around him, eager for his input. turns out he has a lot to say.

not enough for the kids, though, it seems, because they keep sneaking carver edlund’s books into the house when he has banned them, has made it a bold point on his penned-down list of house rules. he finds them stuffed under mattresses and as pdfs on phones. he burns what he can. but he also says, okay, all right, i’ll write a fucking memoir if that’s what it takes to get you people to stop smuggling this trash in. and he lays down the basics: azazel’s plot and meddling angels, an apocalypse or two, what’s there besides the earth and how to make sure you never go there. nothing warranting gaudy pulp covers with half-naked men on them. if anyone wants to know which brother did what, they’ll have to be damn good at reading between the lines, because dean’s too over it to point fingers, especially not when his words might stick around for other generations to read and judge and point their own. he doesn’t put his name on it. leaves it anonymous.

what he doesn’t count on are the notes in the margins, the whispered conversations after dinner or the glances he’ll get: that he’s the hero of that story, he’s just too humble to write it down.

he only yells about that once.

in the end, it’s like this: there’s no american men of letters, but there’s people of action, and they all cluster around the heart of the country where the drive is about the same to each coast, and at the heart of that is dean.

in the very, very end, it’s like this: his memoir goes into print, and there’s a preface telling his name in bold letters, and clarifying the details he had made sure to leave extra vague. if you’re in a roadhouse bar somewhere—and there’s more of them now, run by those who wouldn’t stay but wouldn’t leave, either—there’s a solid chance you’ll run into a dean or deanna or ten, and they can tell you exactly who they were named after and why.

but right now, it’s just a chance, something to build out of nothing, something he wishes he had back when. something to turn his north towards, to pour all his strengths in that have grown from pain and weakness. they do always say the best leaders are those who never wanted to lead. out of all the rubble, something that’ll hold up without him there to keep it together, though he’s the heart that beats in it, anyway. he’s the home it grew up in.

[southerneldritch]

-A Year Later, Misha-

The smoke rose in a thick line from the burning embers of the tip of the cigarette, an off brand from the shop in town. Misha drew in a deep and long drag as he looked out across the night sky above the cold southern expanse of the Tronador valley. As he went further up the mountain, it was nice to look back towards the small lights of Puerto Varas, where he had received the intel that pointed him up this impressively cold mountain. Misha was no stranger to cold, but with how hot it was in the town this August he hadn’t expected the trek to plunge him into frigid temperatures. Nevertheless, with his collar lifted and another smoke lit, he marched forward.

The night was getting colder and the path, if you could call it one, was more than likely made entirely by wayward goats without intention or significance. Santino knew better than to give Misha bad intel, especially with something as important as this, but still there was a nagging at the back of Misha’s mind that this could be a trap. 

He’d had a few difficult tussles since he left the comfort of the states to pursue what truth he had seen, what memories had been returned to him. Briefly, he considered the nightmare of New Orleans and what he’d had to do with the good Doctor. The sight of what that man had become, what that man committed to before slipping under the floodwaters of the ill-gotten city was still clear in his mind. Misha liked that his mind felt less like a mystery than before, but he was torn when he thought of the life he had built in Avenyork, the friends….friend he had made. 

After another long drag of the cigarette, Misha found himself spotting the low light of a small cabin tucked into the mountainside. “Finally. I hope they have a fire going” he muttered to himself as he trudged on. Arriving at the small cabin, he could hear some music playing from inside. It sounded Russian. With a firm knock he stood out in the cold for a moment before the music fell silent and the door was cracked open. Dark brown eyes stared out from the warmth of the structure. “¿Sí, Qué quieres?”

“¿Oleg está aquí?” Misha responded. There was a slight look of confusion on the face of the man holding the door.

“Hablas español mejor que Oleg” He smiled and opened the door wider, gesturing for Misha to step inside. 

“lo hago pero no lo prefiero.” Misha smirked as he stepped through the doorway, adding “¿Habla usted Inglés?”

“Si, but is not as good. But Oleg prefer it too.” The man, short in stature, shut the door behind Misha and led him to a chair at a table in the middle of the room. Misha could smell some sort of soup or stew being made on the fireplace and there was a small phonograph player on a small table to the side. “Oleg tried to make me learn Russian, HA” he laughed “Not happen”

“Russian is not easy language to master. Don’t worry my english is very good.” Misha sat down roughly, tired as he was. “Where is Oleg?” His eyes drifted around the room and saw a small bed tucked in the corner and a single door into the back room.

“He went to gather last few ingredients for stew” The man sat down across from Misha “Mi nombre es Mateo, ehhh” A pause “My name, Mateo. You?” His clothes were a bit large for his build and he seemed calm, despite a stranger banging on his door at this late hour in the mountains. 

“Misha” Misha stated as he absorbed the room, gathering as much as he could. “And how did Oleg come to find you?”

“Oh as most. The people in town. They know my skills” He smiled and folded his fingers together. His nails were clean and bright yet something dark was under them. “And what is Oleg to you?”

Misha paused and considered the question. “Old friends,” adding, “How long do you think he’ll be?” He kept his eyes on swivel as he watched Mateo’s every move. 

“He not be much longer” Mateo smiled wide, teeth looking wet. “Last ingredients are most important.” He gestured towards the pot next to the fireplace. 

“Yes.” There was a pause in the room. The cold of the outdoors permeated everything despite the roaring fire. “The final touches are always important.” Before the pause could go on much longer, Misha asked, “So I heard music as I approached. Shall we put some on while we wait for Oleg?”

“YES!” Mateo exclaimed, his voice almost heavy with excitement. “Please go crank up the record” he half laughed “Oleg brought very good”. Misha stood and made his way towards the phonograph. It was an old thing that looked worse for the wear, and there on the pad was an old Russian record. The crank made an awful noise as he turned it. The creaking, clanking and the sound of the spring tightening was a mixture of bizzare and otherworldly sounds that caused the hairs on Misha’s neck to stand up on end. 

As Mateo reached the last click of the player, Misha noticed an imperial Russian coat on the floor by the fireplace. Heavy outerwear that would work well in the growing cold outside the house. A coat Oleg would not have left without care. Misha’s stomach turned to sand and there were alarm bells going off as he felt his muscles tightened without thinking to do so. 

“So Oleg?” Misha spoke as the record wurred to life with the sounds of a Russian folk tune, he turned back towards Mateo and regretted his decision immediately. Mateo with wide open eyes was looking directly at Misha, though he had not turned his body, only his head which was situated facing almost entirely the wrong direction. His mouth looked as if it had broken free and his head cocked backwards as a horrific guttural sound of nightmares filled the small cabin. Misha reached for his pistol as Mateo’s form folded and ripped and slid off of the large creature now flinging itself at him. His gun had only gotten out of the holster before the creature was on top of him. Slamming Misha down hard, the gun slipped from his hand. His head was spinning but his training kicked in harder than ever. The snarling maw of the grotesque thing was dripping down onto him as he kicked his heel back and slammed it hard into the beast. The creature folded back and shrieked. It grasped at its side that was bleeding a thick red ichor.

“Piece of Shit!” Misha exclaimed as he rolled over and tapped his heel again, the blood stained blade retracting into the side of his boot. Tumbling to his feet next to his revolver and snatching it up to look towards the creature writhing. Drawing a deep breath with a mixture of words under his breath Misha steadied his pistol on the shadowed and dripping beast. The upbeat tunes of the Russian folk music punctuated the snarl of the thing as it whipped around to face Misha.

“YOU ARE TOO LATE FOR FRIEND '' The voice spilled from various holes around the thing. With sounds of gravel being forced through flesh, the tone still somehow sounded like the small man of Mateo, even if the creature had very few traces of his flesh sticking to its dripping form. Within a second it lept towards Misha and without a second guess the gun belched fire. The small piece of metal tore through the creature, though it was not enough to stop its energy. Slamming down in front of him and bringing a thunderously hard slam into his side, the creature sent Misha hurling into the wall at the back of the shack. Wood splintered as the low light of the cabin was lost.  

Misha woke, lying inside the small back room, “Uhhhghhh.” He let  a moan escape before sitting up. The bodies of curious travellers and seekers of information alike were strung up and stored around the room. Likely as some sort of food source. “Oh Oleg,” he muttered as he eyed the opening now splintered through the wall into the main room of the cabin. “I guess you didn’t come as prepared as you should have.” Misha began to unload the revolver and slips his hand into an interior pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a few special looking cartridges with emblazoned symbols upon the shells. Before he was able to load them, the mass of the creature barges through, up, over and towards him.

“YOU SOON DEAD NEW RUSSIAN!” The creature gurgled forward with a sense of pained anger. While the previous strikes may not have been lethal, they certainly hurt. It clearly was angry now. Seeing it close the distance with its previous speed, Misha abandoned loading the gun and braced himself instead. No amount of training can steel one against the purely physical blows of a wretched beast. Misha found himself tumbling back out of the hole his body had just made in the wall. He managed to land on his feet and was able to load the special rounds.

“Not quite yet you piece of SHIT!” He called out mocking the creature as the last round click into the cylinder and he snapped the gun shut. The hammer set, he began to speak softly as the chamber emitted a soft glow, faint but there. “I’m not done with you!” He exclaimed as he saw the twisted gleam of the eyes of the creature peer over the hole in the wall.

Releasing a growling shriek the creature retorted, “YOU DIE NOW OTHERS ARE FOOD ENOUGH!!!” as it launched over the broken timbers and slammed foot after foot, hand after hand towards Misha. Its jaws unhinged as it lept but before it bit down into the flesh of this painful nuisance, Misha dropped down, dodging the thing and letting loose two shots directly point blank into its belly. Hellish green and blue fire erupted from the wounds as large bulbs exploded around the impact zones. The creature cried out and slammed into, then through, the outer wall out into the cold snow of the mountainside. It let out a weak chitter of pain and confusion.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here Oleg.” Misha slowly stepped over the rubble of the wall and towards the thing. It’s body convulsing and folding, bones twisting inside its loose skin. “But this thing won't hurt anyone else.” Misha stood over it and let loose a loud single shot through what could best be described as its ‘head’. A few moments of the bright burn of green and blue light and the echo of the shot through the mountains, and Misha was alone. 

New snow began to fall silently. He flipped open his notebook to a page full of names. He crossed out the last name on the page, ‘Oleg Fedorov.’ The steam of his breath was thick as he let out a long long sigh. With a fresh cigarette in his lips, he glanced at the Verum Private Detective badge paper clipped into his notebook. He looked into the cold night. 

Softly, to the silence, he says, “I think I miss home.” 

(by J. Daily)

[a-pretty-nerd]

Tomura Shigaraki x AllMight!Daughter!Reader

Chapter 7

Premis:

When The League of Villians discovers that AllMight has a daughter, they are quick to snatch you up and hold you hostage. Shigaraki had a careful and thought out plan, but that was before you got there. Now you're in the mood for some not-so-healthy rebellion.

Word Count: 2,270

Warnings: Fighting, trauma, family issues, etc. 

A/N:

I'm really glad you guys seem to like this series, I'm having a lot of fun with it! Please don't be afraid to interact, like, comment, share, and I do requests too! Every little bit helps support me. I also post my original work on my Wattpad, and I have a Patreon if you wanna support me further! I hope you enjoy the chapter!

chapter 6  Chapter 8 

"How long has it been since you last took your medication?" Shigaraki asked from across the room, seated in a chair as he adjusted the quirk-neutralizing gloves over his hand.

"The day you took me." You told him, standing awkwardly waiting in the middle of the room. The old office space had furniture pressed against the walls to create an open space. A makeshift ring for fighting. Shigaraki had tried to get you to use your quirk to do so, but you found yourself unable to control it. He stood from his seat, dressed in a comfortable set of all black. As were you, something Toga had brought for you at Shigaraki's request.

"How long have you been working out for?" He asked. His eyes and face nearly emotionless. He was cold and calculating. Trying to put pieces of a puzzle together to form what he perceives as you.

"Since I can remember. Mom always had me in some kind of sport. She said it would help me keep my head straight."

"Today I'll be judging your physical skills outside of your quirk. Even if you had control, you can't always rely on your quirk alone."

"Don't have to tell me twice." You scoffed, holding your hands up to protect your face as Shigaraki shifted into a defensive stance.

"Don't hold anything back." He ordered. He moved closer, walking with you as your bodies traced a circle around the ring. You watched him, preparing yourself to fight. This wasn't your first taste of combat. In fact, you had the luxury of free self-defense classes when your mother married her first wife, Sandra. As a hero trainer, Sandra worked to train future heroes before they chose what course they wanted to take in their "hero" careers.

Sandra was a kind woman. She made you feel strong and safe in a way your mother never could. Sandra was more like a mother to you than she ever was. It broke your heart when they divorced. They had been together so long and everything seemed fine. But out of nowhere, Sandra's place in your life shrunk. She still called to talk and sent you birthday/holiday gifts, but she wasn't around anymore. You felt you had lost the only parent you'd ever truly had.

Distracted, a hit to your cheek shook you awake. You paused and turned. He hadn't really even hit you that hard, just pushed your head with his knuckles. You looked at Shigaraki, puzzled.

"You're distracted. Get a grip." He told you. You felt embarrassed. You adjusted your stance and dug your heels into the concrete floor. You looked into his eyes and furrowed your brow.

"Right. Sorry." You blurted. Suddenly he moved, quickly going in for a real hit. With your wrist, you blocked and went in for a hit. Only for him to dodge and aim for your stomach. He hit and hard. It was enough to shake you, but not enough to get you down. You raised your fists up and brought them down on his upper back, knocking him to his knees. That low, you lifted your shoe to kick him in the face. Only to have your ankle swiped out from until you. Hitting the floor, you let out a loud and upset grunt.

"Pay attention. You keep leaving yourself vulnerable." He scolded. Still on his knees, watching you as you pulled yourself away from him. Swinging your legs around to kick him in the gut, creating a distance and knocking him to the floor.

It hurt him, but not enough. He hardly even seemed hurt by it at all. All it did was create distance. Any normal man would be down for the count, but Shigaraki was no normal man. You'd have to be smarter than that.

"Is that all?" He mocked before charging you again. You held up your fists to block punch after steady punch. Bruising the back of your hands and forearms. His movements were quick and steady now. You found your opening and cut up into his ribs. He flexed before you could hit, doing little to no damage. You repeatedly hit his ribs when there was an opening, hoping to wear him down or build up in preparation to rush him. No such luck. He would flex and lean into the hit absorbing your impact so it did almost nothing but maybe hurt a bit.

You dodged and blocked as best you could, but eventually he landed a hard hit to your cheek, sending you back a bit.

"Years of athletics and this is it?" He asked with a grin.

"Piss off. It's been a little while since my last fight." You told him, lunging forward to rain a series of hits down on him. You even landed a few, the more you fought, the more you got used to his movements and his tactics. You knew winning or at least passing this fight wouldn't be about strength, it'd be about getting him to quit. You'd have to outsmart him, or at least distract him.

You backed him up to the center of the ring, hitting harder into his ribs so it forced him back. Regardless of how hard you hit, even if it was a good one, it always seemed more like a wild inconvenience than a painful hit to his body. He'd let out deep grunts here and there, maybe a comment or two, but otherwise he was quiet. He watched you as you moved around him. Watched the way you hit and dodged and danced around him. Swinging your leg up to bring your knee to his nose. Thats what got him.

He backed up, holding his face as he groaned. He looked down at his hand, no blood. You hadn't hit hard enough to draw blood, just enough to hurt. Its not like you were too weak to break his nose, your hits to his ribs and his back proved that. You were strong. You controlled your hit.

"I said don't hold back." He grumbled. You shrugged.

"I'm not. I just didn't want to damage that pretty face of yours." He scoffed at your joke. He charged you again, setting off another round. It would take an hour of fighting like this before he became satisfied. You swung your foot to his face again, only for him to grab ahold of your ankle to stop it. His eyes met yours as the two of you panted.

The way he looked at you. It wasn't cold or calculating, no gears were turning. It had stopped. His grip loosened, a few fingers raising away. The glove on his hand made a loud creaking sound as he moved away. His expression appeared satisfied, content, and almost pleased. It made your cheeks feel warm. You weren't joking when you said, 'pretty face' you really did find him strangely attractive.

"We're done for now. We'll work on your pacing later." He told you as he pushed your foot away so it fell back to the floor. You hopped back as you tried to stabilize yourself as you watched him walk back to his chair. He tossed a bottle of water at you. You fumbled with it before finally grasping it to take a drink.

"How'd I do, teach?" You jokingly called him. He raised his brow at the name as he drank from his water.

"You need work, your style and movements need to be refined. And you could be a bit stronger. But," he paused, looking away from you, "you're okay. Our real focus needs to be on your quirk. You need to gain more control."

"Control." You muttered to yourself as you looked out a window in thought. "My meds always kept me in control."

"No. Your meds kept you weak. You needed structure and help, not medication." He told you, approaching you as he removed his gloves.

"Why don't you keep those on?" You asked. "Wouldn't it be easier to-"

"I can't rely on them all the time. Like your meds, If I wore them all the time, I'd hardly know how to function without them. Then, when I'd need to use my quirk, I might make a mistake and not realize it till it's too late." He placed his palm on your shoulder, fingers splayed out in the air. "I'd lose the control I've worked for. That's why you need to learn how to control your own powers. So you don't need the meds at all." Fingers came down on your shoulder, all but his thumb which held out. He gave your shoulder a tight squeeze.

"But, not everyone on meds can just go off them and be okay. That's not how it works, medication is different than gloves-" He squeezed tighter, leaning in closer to face you and get your attention.

"You're not everyone, Y/N. You're stronger than you think." He growled before suddenly letting go and walking out of the room. You gripped the water bottle in your hands as your heart raced in your chest. Your lip began to quiver and your eyes started to water. You hadn't heard those words in a longer time. It was strange to hear such encouraging words from him. But the way he looked at you, he meant it. You nervously looked around the room as the tears started to fall.

They were gentle, sad tears. When was the last time someone had been so encouraging? So, patient and willing to work with you like this. You chuckled through the tears at the horrible revelation. This came from a villian, your captor no less, a man trying to use you for his own selfish gain. Even now, in helping you, he was probably trying to use you to help him somehow. Still though, what did that say about your own family?

Speak of the devil. Your mother starred out the apartment window, teeth gnawing on her nail. Her eyes peered down at the cars below and the people on the street. Her other hand dug into her side, supporting her other elbow.

"Hey..." Toshinori called to her. She paused and turned her head towards him. Her eyes still anxiously glued to the window. Your father sighed. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" She spat.

"For...For everything." His terrible posture consumed him as he shuffled forward to stand beside her. "This is all my fault."

"No. It's not. It was my idea to send her to Japan for the summer." She stated. She continued to gnaw on her nail, absently starring outside.

"Can I ask you something?" He mumbled, sharing her view.

"What?"

"Back then...when we first met. Well, do you ever regret-"

"Are you asking me if I regret my own daughter?" She barked. Toshinori let out a startled grunt.

"Uh! No! I just- You never- All these years-" your mother sighed.

"Sometimes." She said softly, almost a whisper it was so quiet. "I wouldn't give her up for the world. But sometimes, I wish things were different. I wish I had known the things I know now. I just wish things could have been different."

"She told me about school. How come you never came to me for the money?" Your mother scoffed at him.

"It was never a money issue. It was a work issue. After her tantrum, she needed a distraction. She needed to stay focused on her work so she didn't fall behind. She ran away, yknow."

"No. I...I didn't."

"Yeah well, she threw a fit over something stupid, classes I think. She stopped taking her meds and ran away to a friend's house for a while before her friend called me to come get her. Her fits had gotten so bad it nearly destroyed her apartment. Had to call the police. It was so bad. She spent time in a facility for a month before she finally came around."

"A facility? Why didn't I hear about this?" Your mother turned to him with a sad and tired gaze.

"Why would you care? Usually you're too busy with hero work to even send her a birthday card. You think you could have helped her? You hardly even know her." Your mother scoffed. Toshinori fell silent before taking in a deep breath and speaking again.

"I may not have been there for her then, but," he held his head up, balling his hand into a fist, "I won't let her down this time. I promise, from here on out I'm going to be the best father I can be. I won't let my little girl down ever again."

"Where's this coming from? You hardly ever expressed interest in her before. Is it because she's finally someone that needs saving?" She mocked.

"It's true that I always put my career above everything else. Y/N always frightened me, I never knew what to say or do. I just wanted her to be safe, I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving her alone and letting her live her life away from mine. But when I saw her at the airport, all grown up, I realized how long it'd been. How absent I was. And talking to her, I realized how smart and kind she is. I regret not being there for her. For you, when you needed me. But she needs a hero now more than ever and I won't let either of you down."

"Are you sure you can handle it? From what I hear, your last fight with All For One was your last."

"I'll do what I can."

Taglist <3: 

@craftybean13 @babayaga67 @imjustverable

@bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

@kamenoyaki @hentaiqween101 @skzero-99

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 3 ♫ “Bring On Tomorrow” [ 3.16 ]

CREATED BY Esther (waterstribe) & Maggie (quincywillows) || Official Page || AO3

GOODBYE CLASS OF ‘21 – The A class prepares for goodbye as they graduate and go their separate ways. Jack and Eric find their place. Maya realizes a new priority, and unexpected changes majorly alter some plans. As the high school curtain draws closed, the world of Adams Academy will never be the same.

87 Minutes (50K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← Last Dance ] [ S3 Synopsis ] [ Season 4 → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

As we enter the final episode of the season, we’re greeted by a sequence we’ve actually already seen once before...

EXT. AAA - DAY

That regal, Smithsonian-esque exterior standing out amidst the grey concrete jungle of Manhattan. A wide shot provides a picturesque view of the structure from above, as slowly a title card appears on the screen:

Adams Academy of the Arts.

In a fluid motion, the words dissolve and condense together, leaving only a logo of three As in red, gold, and white.

AAA.

It’s an advert, and we’ve seen it before. Many moons ago, what feels like a lifetime. The exterior shot fades, transitioning us...

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

… to the principal’s office. JACK HUNTER is seated at the mahogany desk with his hands clasped together in front of him. He offers the camera a pleasant smile, addressing us directly, the same exact take from two seasons ago.

Jack: Hi. I’m Jack Hunter, the principal of Adams Academy of the Arts. If you’re watching this video, then it’s likely you’re considering applying to our elite program for high school students. Well, either that, or you’re very lost.

Administrator humor. Jack chuckles, pauses, and continues in his professional tone.

Jack: If it’s the former, then I’m happy to be of assistance. Adams is at the forefront of performing arts education, and many of our alumni have gone on to do amazing things -- some of whom you might even recognize. While we strongly emphasize the important balance of academics with your professional goals, there is nothing more paramount than providing you, an artist on the rise, with the space to explore your potential, build your skills, and put you on the path towards success.

As Jack continues to discuss, quick panning shots of the interior of the school set the scene. Now, as we watch the scenery flip by in well-photographed shots, there’s a new weight to it. Because we know these locations now -- we know them all too well.

When we cut back to Jack, still pleasantly seated behind the desk, he begins to get into what the day-to-day process of a student is like, and how this crop of students is chosen.

Jack: Every year, just about 50 students -- split into two cohorts, allowing for even more individualized instruction -- enter the halls of AAA as the freshman class. These incoming artists have talent, dedication, discipline, and above all? Ambition. These students, like you, seek out the opportunities to achieve whatever their driving passion might be -- whatever it takes. While here, they’ll hone their craft, explore the other realms of their field, learn from one another as well as highly skilled educators, and form bonds that they will carry with them for life.

And that they did. That they fucking did. Jack smiles wider.

Jack: As for what this experience is like, well -- how about I let them show you?

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

This launches a quick-cut, exciting montage of what the world of Adams is like. It’s full of photos, clips, and candids of the students hard at work. That sense of community is still abundantly clear, all of the students thrilled to be there, working hard, laughing and smiling with one another… and now those few early glimpses of the freshman class, full of familiar faces, are even more dear.

And that, notably, is when things start to change. About a third through the student montage, the photographs update -- presenting the most recent version of the AAA advert, which is bursting with photographs of the senior class. It’s like we’ve jumped four years in seconds, watching the A class go from the sparsely peppered in newbies to the main focal stars of the production.

Jack, voiceover: The competition is fierce, and the process isn’t easy. It’s work, hard work, but any passion worth pursuing takes a little faith and a whole lot of elbow grease. The best of the best make their way to Adams, and without a doubt, the best emerge from it ready to take on the world.

Somehow, that community vibe becomes even stronger through the images. Definitely a place where outsiders, creatives, and misfits found their place to belong.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

The video is wrapping up, Jack looking as confident as ever -- now four years later. In fact, this take of him could’ve been shot just weeks earlier. When he talks about AAA now, there’s an evident, well-known pride shining in his eyes.

Jack: The question is, where do the best of the best come from? Who has what it takes to join our elite and excellent rank of future artists? [ a beat ] Do you?

As the upbeat tones of New Radicals floats in…

1! 1! 1, 2, 3, ow --

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “You Get What You Give” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by AAA Seniors

The black box is full of laughter and energy as the A class gathers, kicking off the first day of the tradition known as Senior Week. Once the school year lets out, in the week before graduation, the school shuts down save for the faculty and the seniors to give them one final week of events and free reign in the place they spent the last four years. Since the clock is truly counting down, now, we’re kept up to date with helpful title cards…

Monday.

Naturally, the A class is enjoying their freedom by singing. But this time, it’s not about performance, just playful harmonizing and grooving together. The vocalists in the class pass the lyrics to each other seamlessly, no more fighting or scrapping for solos. DAVE WILLIAMS plays his guitar; LUCAS JAMES FRIAR keeps the beat by drumming with hands against the piano. NICK YOGI moves around the room with his camera, capturing it all as is his solemn duty.

On the bridge about 4 minutes in, we focus on specific subsets of the A class dancing together in particular -- that is to say, how the friend groups were originally when the show started. DYLAN ORLANDO, JEFF MONROE, and NATE MARTINEZ rock with their arms around each other, moving Dave and his guitar along with them; MAYA HART shimmies her shoulders with the plastics, DARBY WINTERS, SARAH CARLSON, and CHAI FRESCO. ZAY BABINEAUX sings emphatically with YINDRA AMINO and NIGEL CHEY; JADE BEAMON and ASHER GARCIA hug each other while bouncing to the beat.

ISADORA DE LA CRUZ watches the rest of the class happily but safely removed by the piano with Lucas, bobbing her head along to the beat. CLARISSA CRUZ and HALEY FISHER loosely waltz with each other, though there’s the distinct feeling someone is missing from their dance… and RILEY MATTHEWS dances with FARKLE MINKUS, the two twirling each other under their arms and making each other laugh. The two who started the most as outsiders from the start, now front and center in the room surrounded by peers who respect and appreciate them -- especially one another.

Farkle and Riley crash into the seats at the front between Maya and Zay, all of the class coming together to roll through the final notes. Then they descend into laughter and applause, high-fiving each other and sharing nudges.

HARPER BURGESS, ERIC MATTHEWS, and SHAWN HUNTER echo that applause, grinning as they enter the room and greet the seniors. Lucas, Dave, and Isadora retreat from the instruments and go to join their classmates in the seats, allowing the faculty to take center stage.

Harper: I see we’re already kicking things off on a high note. Lots of energy this morning -- where was this all year long?

Nate: Graduation week, baby!

He starts a whoop, which the techie lads carry on, the rest of the A class playfully shushing and waving them down. Once they quiet again, Harper carries on.

Harper: Graduation is upon us, that’s true. We’ve got one week to go until you all cross that stage and walk into the rest of your lives -- and a pretty packed week at that.

Eric: That’s right. Welcome, A class, to Senior Week. You made it.

Harper: Of course, this week is completely optional… so it says a lot that all of you are here. That you showed up anyway.

The A class glances around at each other, smiling. Yeah… suffice to say, three years ago, it’s anybody’s guess who would’ve wanted to show up and spend another week with each other if they didn’t have to. Now, a week doesn’t feel like enough. Riley takes Farkle’s hand, squeezing it.

Harper: That being said, I don’t think we’re all quite accounted for. Wouldn’t you say so, Eric?

Eric: I’d say you’re exactly right, Harper. Since it is an unofficial tradition --

Harper: No attendance to take, not on the record...

Eric: I don’t see how we don’t have room for… one more.

Does he mean… he doesn’t mean… the A class holds their breath, Eric and Harper glancing towards the open doorway…

As CHARLIE GARDNER enters, the A class immediately launching into gleeful cheers. He seems a bit caught off guard by the reception, actually, flinching slightly at the noise but smile so impossibly bright there’s no doubt about whether he wants to be there. Riley, Clarissa, and Haley leap up to rush him with hugs.

Yindra: I swear, for a second, I really believed Wyatt was gonna walk through that door.

Charlie comes to stand by Eric, explaining that he and Jack were kind enough to reach out and invite him to be present for Senior Week. It was an easy yes -- he would never want to miss the chance to be here.

Charlie: I only kept it a secret because I wanted it to be a surprise, so please, Riley, don’t slaughter me for not telling you.

And it sure was one! The class chuckles at Riley’s expense -- nosy gal -- and she shrugs bashfully, crossing her arms. Harper states it’s great to have Charlie with them again, gesturing for him to go join his former classmates. He does eagerly, Clarissa and Haley pulling him down to sit with them and basically holding him captive in a hug on their laps.

And just like that, the A class is complete again. Truly complete, in a way it hasn’t been since over a year ago. Harper takes a moment to take it in, this bewildering, bold, yet delightful crop of students she’s come to love. She clears her throat -- too early in the week to get emotional -- and continues her spiel from earlier.

Harper: It’s great to have all of you here, sharing this space one last time. That’s what Senior Week is all about -- honoring your accomplishments, strengthening your bonds, and celebrating like Hell until you turn those tassels on graduation day. It wasn’t easy to get here, for a lot of reasons, reasons I know you all know and I don’t need to rehash…

True enough… we hold on shots of all of our mains for a few moments, most especially Farkle, Lucas, and Isadora. There have been serious lows, no doubt about that…

Harper: But you made it. You’re here. You passed the tests, you’ve taken your bows, and now all that’s left is to see what the future holds. And knowing what I know about each of you, I’m sure we’re bound to see that it is undoubtedly, captivatingly bright.

Looking at all of their excited, shining faces, it’s not hard to see why she believes that. The A class is without a doubt a unique, unparalleled crew -- and now we’ve got one week left to soak up as much of them as we can at Adams Academy for the Arts.

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Harper and Eric continue to explain the long-standing process of Senior Week, a tradition that has existed at Adams even as far back as when Harper was a senior walking these hallowed halls. There are set activities they do each year on the four days leading up to graduation -- differing slightly by the specifics of each individual class, of course -- but as for how they decide when to do what, well, that’s up to fate.

Eric produces his Best Counselor Mug from his office and holds it up for all to see, explaining that each of the activities for the week is on a folded up slip of paper inside. Every morning, they’ll retrieve one and see what awaits them that day. He asks for a volunteer to draw the first event, and Maya is on her feet before anyone even has the chance to blink.

Eric: Miss Hart. Naturally, I should have just assumed.

Maya beams, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She takes a deep breath and sticks her manicured fingers in the mug, dramatically choosing a slip… then she retrieves it with a flourish, Eric inviting her to unfurl it and read it aloud to the class.

Maya: “Reminiscence.”

Dave: Evanescence?

No, Dave, although that would be an amazing theme for the day. Harper clarifies the activity, admitting it’s perhaps the easiest of the bunch. Basically, today will be yearbook signing day, and any other sort of things like that. They’ll cap it off after lunch with a presentation by Yogi, who has been spending all year putting together a slideshow / clip reel of their best performances, funniest rehearsal moments, and greatest hits throughout the last four years. The class reacts accordingly, endeared, to which Yogi nods smugly and holds up his camera.

Yogi: Yeah, now you all are glad I spent all that time filming. Aren’t you?

Got ‘em there! Eric sets them loose, passing off control to Harper as the A class pulls out their yearbooks and settles into comfortable chatter.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack’s office continues to become more and more minimalist, boxes and items disappearing as he packs them up. His shelves are empty, no longer holding his many books and volumes and commemorative mementos. The walls are bare, artwork and plaques stored safely away. At this point, he’s down to his desk chair, his laptop, and a few stray boxes to collect stuff from the desk.

HARLEY KEINER knocks lightly on the door, asking Jack if it’s okay if he starts taking down the name plaque outside his door. Once they announce the new principal this week, he’ll have to put up the new plate as soon as it arrives. Jack nods, granting him permission.

Eric enters just as Harley starts drilling, removing the screws keeping the name plate in place. Eric watches the process for a moment, bittersweet, then greets Jack. He asks what he’s up to, coming around the side of the desk to read over his shoulder.

Jack is painstakingly waiting for news about the principal position, keeping his email open and internet browser on the most likely websites where the news might appear. One tab includes Yancy’s professional Twitter account as a school board member, where he is positive he’d announce his new role if he gets wind of it. For as right as it felt to relinquish control and let someone new take over, Jack clearly is stressed about who that someone might be.

Stressed over something he has zero control over. Eric braces his shoulders and rubs them soothingly, instructing him to let it go.

Jack: Let it go? Let it go? You want me to just shrug my shoulders at the possibility that some fascist bureaucrat is going to take over --

Eric: That’s not what I meant, but to be fair, it wasn’t all that long ago that I was calling you a fascist bureaucrat over bitter coffee in the faculty lounge. Eye of the beholder.

Jack: That’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to me. I’m breaking up with you.

Eric laughs, shaking his head. He reaches over Jack’s shoulder and gently but pointedly shuts his laptop, then spins so he’s facing him. He leans back against the desk, blocking the laptop.

Eric: I know you want it to work out the way you want it. You want me to take over, as your pseudo-protégé, and then you won’t have to worry that the place will be in good hands. I get that concern. I do. But you and I both know we won’t know until we know. And even if it does happen that way, if I’m lucky enough to be given the position, you won’t find out on Twitter first.

Jack: You don’t know that. Social media is a terrifyingly swift scape, Eric.

Eric: If I get it, or if I don’t, they will call me to tell me so. And you know the instant I find out, you will be my first call. [ a beat ] Let it go. Come enjoy Senior Week. It’s your last dance, too.

Good point… he manages to win him over, Jack relenting with a sigh and raising his hands in surrender. As he gets up, he changes topics.

Jack: He hasn’t talked to me, you know.

Eric: Who?

Jack: Lucas. [ tightly ] He hasn’t spoken to me since I shared my resignation.

Eric: Well, it’s only been a few days…

Jack: He literally won’t look at me. I greeted him as he and Riley came in this morning and he acted like he didn’t hear me.

Eric: Maybe he didn’t. He’s not a very good listener.

Jack: Eric.

Eric: Jack. [ taking his arms ] Give him time. There’s a lot going on this week already. Give him the chance to process.

Eric is the expert on emotions, so he’s probably right. Jack accepts the advice, nodding.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The auditorium is all set up for presentations, projector lowered and lights dimmed. But it’s not Yogi front and center to introduce a video, as he’s still in the audience. He’s leaning over to have a conversation with Charlie, Clarissa, and Haley.

Yogi: I’m just saying, a little heads up would have been nice, but thankfully, I included you in the slideshow anyway.

Charlie: It’s fine, I wouldn’t have minded either way. Thanks, though.

Yogi: Yeah, well, you’re part of the A class and always will be. [ a beat ] And it was too hard to edit you out. Not that I tried or anything.

Once we’re ready to roll, it’s Dylan who takes the stage. He quickly and cheerfully explains why.

Dylan: Before Yogles takes us on a trip down memory lane, I have some unfinished business to take care of. As you may or may not recall, I didn’t perform a final last week. That’s because I was working on something a bit more elaborate to submit as my final presentation, and so I specifically requested permission from Harper to show mine during Senior Week instead.

Maya: Prolonging my torment as long as possible…

Dylan: This was a collaborative effort, so extra special thanks to Yogi for helping with his camera work, Isadora for her directorial expertise that helped bring my vision to life, and… well, as for the rest, you’ll see. Harper said this week was about honoring the best things about this school, and this class, and I think this video will do just that. [ to the booth ] Let’s roll it, Jeffy!

The lights lower, Dylan climbing down off the stage to get out of the way. An old-fashioned film leader countdown beeps from 5 to ease us in…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DYLAN’S FINAL - DAY

At first, the familiar hallway is quiet albeit dimly lit, the fluorescents almost acting like spotlights with the way the film is color graded. Then the muted nature is disrupted, a mannequin from the costume loft flying out from the adjacent corridor and crashing into the wall. It collapses with a theatrical thud, cueing dramatic action music as Dylan Orlando somersaults onto the screen after it. He’s styled in some kind of Gothic, kickass spy look, eyeliner back with a vengeance. In fact, for any Taylor stan worth their salt, the aesthetic should be immediately reminiscent.

Dylan sits upright from his roll, flipping his hair out of his face and looking directly at the camera, the shot freeze framing long enough for a title card to appear next to him: Dylan Orlando is Dyl Pickle.

Then he keeps going, pushing into the dressing room hall.

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DYLAN’S FINAL - DAY

Dylan dodges attacks thrown his way from the sides as he flips and cartwheels through the hall, the “threats” vaguely identifiable as things performers might have in their arsenal -- make-up kits, microphones, heeled shoes that are just the right shade of pink as to not be subtle as to who they’re alluding to. He makes it to the doors…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And speeds through the wings, arriving on the stage. He does a 360-turn, taking in all his immediate surroundings -- then finds what he thinks he’s looking for, expression sharpening as he looks out towards the house.

The camera zooms in on what he sees pointedly, accenting the prize: a sign, taped to the window of the booth. “Some Goddamn Respect.”

Finally! At long last! Dylan inhales a breath, starting his way to the edge of the stage -- when he’s suddenly accosted, yanked backwards and thrown dramatically back towards the looming set pieces. He rolls over and stops his tumble, snapping his head up to find his assailant.

Farkle. Dressed in similarly intense spy clothing, hair slicked back and wearing a glimmering, bejeweled black eye patch just for the hell of it over one eye. A title card introduces him as well: Farkle Minkus is The Last Minki.

And the last thing standing between Dyl Pickle and the sweet, sweet taste of respect, it seems. Farkle raises his weapon -- a microphone stand, but he’s wielding it as if it’s a samurai sword -- then quirks an eyebrow. Daring Dylan to try again.

But Dyl Pickle never backed down from a challenge. The music swells as he leaps to his feet, engaging Farkle in some relatively well-staged fight choreography. Microphone stands swing, twinks twirl, Dylan throws another couple rolls and a flip in there for good measure. Then, he pulls out his signature surprise move -- an expertly executed back handspring -- that appears as if it knocks Farkle back and finishes the battle.

Farkle sprawls to the stage and doesn’t move, seemingly a victory for Dyl Pickle. He picks up the microphone stand and pokes at him with it, just to double check, and once he seems satisfied he’s won, drops it and turns his focus back to the booth and respect waiting ahead.

Only he’s ambushed. There’s another threat waiting for him when he turns, Isadora staring him down with dark eyes, black lipstick, and no mercy. She’s sporting a slightly different familiar look, and her title card appears right on time: Isadora De La Cruz is Smackle.

Perhaps a metaphor for the trials and tribulations of her techie past, but obviously willing to play along, Isadora is the one who gets the last word. She and Dylan engage in a bit of a tussle of their own, Dylan too springy and erratic for Isadora’s calm, unbothered approach. It’s easy for her to gain the upper hand, and then all it takes is a swift kick for her to send him off the edge -- cascading right into the orchestra pit.

If you know how much of a Taylor Swift fan Dylan is, then it’s really no question what all this fanfare has been building towards. As Dylan slow motion falls back into the pit, the bombastic opening kicks in, really sending us off --

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Bad Blood” as performed by Taylor Swift (feat. Kendrick Lamar) || Performed by Dylan Orlando, Isadora De La Cruz, and Asher Garcia

INT. AAA - FACULTY LOUNGE - DYLAN’S FINAL - DAY

Dylan lands on his back on the couch in the faculty lounge, immediately being tended to by Asher and Riley.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DYLAN’S FINAL - DAY

As they repair him, Isadora stays on the stage, taking the Kendrick rap bits and delivering them cutthroat style to the camera. Farkle remains sprawled motionless on the stage behind her -- at one point, she lightly kicks his corpse, just for good measure (and if you look closely, you can see him break character and crack a smile right before the shot cuts).

INT. AAA - FACULTY LOUNGE - DYLAN’S FINAL - DAY

Dylan takes most of the Taylor lines, cutting between wherever he is at the moment and singing to the camera in the dressing room, where his reflection seems to surround him from all sides. The rest of the music video is stylized very noir, full of shadows and almost entirely black and white with splashes of red here and there.

As he goes, he recruits and builds his team, which is really what the point of the video is anyway. We start with his right hand man, Asher, who bolsters him from the brink and gets him back in fighting shape. He’s styled much suaver than he usually is, slick in an expensive suit and with trendy, overly large glasses. He smooths back his coiff as the title card freeze frames for him: Asher L. Garcia is Ash Cash Money.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DYLAN’S FINAL - DAY

Dylan makes the rounds conferring with other members of his crew, collecting the whole pack. In the costume loft, he introduces Jade Beamon as Pins N’ Needles, who is building them battle armor. She pulls a pin from between her teeth and throws it towards the wall, where it sticks into the center of a bullseye littered with papers labeled things like “performer arrogance” “no thank yous” and “another Ariana song.”

We also meet Jeff Monroe as LiteBrite, who trains Dylan with some killer breakdance moves; Nate Martinez as MariNate, who mugs to the camera and throws up a peace sign before he absolutely destroys a rolling flat with a hammer; Dave Williams as The Giant, who mainly just stares blankly at the camera while Dylan sings and hams up the intensity alongside him. But hey, they managed to make Dave look serious and not clueless for longer than five seconds, and that’s a cinematic feat!

There’s even one shot of what is titled “In-Laws,” where Riley, Nigel, and Yogi are arranged dramatically along the broken set pieces left on the stage and dressed equally as debonair. They’re styled more like the arm candy partners than the spies themselves, in black tie formal wear but just as much eyeliner. Riley Matthews is The Meddler, Nigel Chey is The Bardolator, and Nick Yogi is A.V. Yogles.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DYLAN’S FINAL - DAY

And last but not least, yes, he even got Lucas James Friar, brooding in the shadows of the booth as The Captain. In super small text, almost unreadable, Dylan includes the code name he wanted to give Lucas that was obviously overruled: Techie Dad(dy).

INT. AAA - PROP LOFT - DYLAN’S FINAL - DAY

Asher takes over vocals for the bridge, singing authoritatively from his perch above it all in the prop loft. Dylan is there with him, taking the Kendrick bits at this moment as he paces behind his boyfriend. Then they come together to sing the belted final line, leaning full tilt into the theatrics in a way Taylor herself would be proud of.

If you love like that, blood runs, oh!

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DYLAN’S FINAL - DAY

Then we’re barreling to the finish line, all of the different pieces of the video intercutting as Dylan pushes through the auditorium doors and into the light of the atrium, his full crew marching with him. They strut in slow motion through the lobby, catching shots of each of them with their best grit -- Isadora back in their ranks for this part, as this is the moment where we’re truly showcasing what Dylan thinks the best part of AAA is and shall forever be.

The techie crew. Iconic. Badass. Irreplaceable. Pair that with a little T-Swift, and there’s nothing that’ll top it.

They make their way to the front of the atrium, their paramour in-laws arranged on the staircase behind them. The camera is looking up at the crew, capturing them in all their glory. Dylan crouches down at the front of the pack, tilting his head at the camera and breaking into a signature Dyl Pickle smirk…

Then he rises back to his full height, sticking his tongue out and triumphantly kicking the camera away and smashing to black on the final declarative “hey!”

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Zay and Charlie are hanging out by the water fountain, discussing the music video as the class takes a break between presentations. They’re trying to figure out how the hell Dylan and Farkle fight choreographed that whole sequence and made it look remotely decent, because certainly no one asked Zay for help with it.

Zay: I mean, anything looks cool if you throw enough gymnastics in there, but whatever.

Charlie: You’re just saying that because you can’t do a back handspring.

Zay: It’s a cheap trick and I’m better than that. Shut up, Mister Split Jump.

Charlie shakes his head, amused, but he doesn’t get the chance to retort Zay’s jealous critique. Maya interrupts them, approaching like a woman on a mission and claiming she has an idea that requires their assistance.

Zay: Maya, I’m not helping you come up with some last-minute clapback at Orlando. Mostly because a good clapback needs more than three days to actually be a serve.

Maya: [ with an eye roll ] Not talking about that. As if I’d stoop so low to waste my energy on the twinks when they clearly weren’t talking about me.

Right… anyway, Maya meant what she said. She’s got a plan, a good one, and she’s going to need some help pulling it together. Charlie starts to excuse himself, understandably assuming Maya is only talking to Zay, but she holds out a hand to stop him.

Maya: No, no, Gardner. [ looking between them ] I need both of you.

Now that’s intriguing… Maya even acknowledging Charlie has something to bring to the table is a display of growth all its own. Charlie raises his eyebrows, exchanging a look with Zay.

INT. THERAPIST OFFICE - DAY

Isadora sits across from her therapist, DR. COOK, in a small but welcoming office. They’re in the middle of a session, notes already scrawled in the therapist’s notebook and Isadora sitting with her feet up on the armchair she sits in. She’s uneasy as Dr. Cook asks her to explain in more detail her feelings surrounding graduation. 

Isadora: I don’t know. I just… [ frustrated ] I don’t know.

Dr. Cook sighs. This is going nowhere. She tries a different approach, asking Isadora if she’s watched any films where characters are going through this stage of life.

Isadora: Of course. Coming of age is one of the most popular genres of film. 

Dr. Cook: What are your favorites?

Isadora: Hm… Booksmart is good. And Lady Bird, obviously.

Dr. Cook, amused: Obviously. [ a beat ] Do you relate at all to what the characters are going through in those movies?

Isadora pauses to think, then shakes her head. Booksmart is about making up for lost time during high school and having fun before going to college, but Isadora has had plenty of fun while in high school. And she isn’t really a party person, anyway, so it’s not like she wants to have a rager before graduation. 

Dr. Cook: What about Lady Bird, then? 

Isadora: Well, that one is focused on the relationship between Lady Bird and her mom, so… can’t really relate to that. 

Dr. Cook: Why not? [ off Isadora’s “are you stupid?” expression ] I mean, I’m sure you have plenty of feelings surrounding your mom. Just because she’s gone doesn’t mean you can’t relate to others’ experiences. 

Isadora: I guess… [ a beat as she thinks ] I think I relate more to Lady Bird’s mom, actually.

With her pen at the ready, Dr. Cook asks why. Isadora explains how the mom didn’t talk to Lady Bird all summer after discovering she was moving away from home for college, and how she feels the urge to not talk to any of her friends who are moving from New York. 

Dr. Cook: Why do you think you want to avoid them? 

Isadora: [ with a groan ] I don’t know! Aren’t you supposed to tell me that? 

Dr. Cook: I can’t tell you why you feel the things you do, Isadora. That’s something only you can figure out. I’m just here to try to help you. 

Isadora, muttering: Well you’re not doing a very good job.

Dr. Cook sighs. It’s no wonder Isadora is still on two sessions a week if this is the amount she opens up each appointment…

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Arriving home from her appointment, Isadora shouts to Eric that Chai will be here soon on her way to her bedroom. Eric doesn’t look up from his work, busy sorting through his files so that he can archive any related to the senior class. Lucas and Isadora’s files are particularly thick.

There’s a knock at the door. Eric shouts that it’s open, and Chai slowly opens the door, peeking inside. Eric turns to her and smiles, which she takes as an invitation to come in. 

Eric: Isadora’s just getting ready. Therapy ran over today. Feel free to sit while you wait.

Chai shuts the door behind her and perches on the sofa, feeling a little awkward but not uncomfortable. She’s still getting used to seeing the school counselor in a context other than school, but Eric has a talent for making people feel at ease. He turns in his chair at the dining table to face Chai and asks her how she’s feeling about graduation. 

Chai: Um, a little nervous. Excited, though. I can’t wait for college.

Eric: I’m glad! I still remember when I graduated high school, I was a nervous wreck. I almost dropped my diploma, my hands were shaking so much.

Chai gives a small chuckle, then remembers something. 

Chai: I only need three tickets for the ceremony, by the way. You can give my fourth to somebody else if they need an extra, so they don’t have to pay. 

Eric: Oh, thank you. Isadora mentioned that Farkle was deciding which siblings to leave out so I’ll pass it on to him, if that’s alright with you. Not that he couldn’t afford another.

Chai: Yeah, of course.

Isadora comes out of her bedroom, now in nicer clothes and with some light makeup on. Chai stands up as they share a smile.

Eric: Where are you two off to tonight then? 

Isadora: Empire State Building. Chai’s never done the tourist-y stuff here so we’re doing as many as we can before she leaves. 

Eric: Sounds like fun.

Isadora takes Chai’s hand, Eric reminding them to stay safe as they leave.

EXT. EMPIRE STATE BUILDING - MAIN DECK - NIGHT

Up above the city, Isadora and Chai stand close together with their hands interlocked. They remain quiet as they take in the view of the city. 

Chai: I’m going to miss this place. London is great, but there’s nowhere like New York. 

Isadora: I can’t imagine living anywhere else, personally. 

Chai: You never know, you might fall in love with another place someday.

They fall silent again. Looking out at the bustling streets and bright lights, Isadora is doubtful that she’ll ever love anywhere as much as here. 

Chai: My grandad hates it here. He always complains that there are too many people. He’s still coming for graduation, though. According to my grandma, he’s bought ear defenders in preparation. 

Isadora: Ear defenders are great. I wore them to school freshman year but Maya “lost” them. Claimed it was offensive that I only put them on during performances.

Chai, laughing: I remember. You broke Maya’s hairbrush in retaliation. I can’t believe you two actually became friends. 

Isadora: It’s a miracle, truly.

Returning to graduation, Isadora asks if all of Chai’s grandparents are coming. Chai nods. 

Chai: The three still alive, anyway. 

Isadora: Didn’t you say to Eric that you only needed three tickets? Which one are you picking to come with your parents?

Chai: Oh, they’re not coming. Too busy. [ with an eye roll ] Apparently business meetings are more important than their daughter’s graduation. 

Isadora: That sucks. I’m sorry.

With a shrug, Chai claims that it’s fine -- she’s used to it. Isadora shuffles closer to Chai so that their sides are pressed against each other. Chai smiles, grateful for the small gesture of comfort. She tilts her head so that it rests on Isadora’s. 

Chai: Have you invited anybody? 

Isadora: I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest. [ a beat ] Eric’s the only family I have now, and he’ll be there as faculty anyway. 

Chai: I’ll tell my grandparents to cheer extra loud when your name gets called.

Isadora laughs and thanks her. They both look back out at the city as they lean against each other, content in each other’s company.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Another day begins as Farkle’s nimble fingers reach into the Best Counselor mug, retrieving a slip of paper. We pull back as a title card keeps us oriented in time, reminding us of how quickly the days are slipping away.

Tuesday.

Farkle unfurls the paper and reads it over, the A class waiting with rapt attention. He frowns slightly, confused.

Farkle: “Clean up?”

Oh, what a great choice, Eric proclaims! One day of Senior Week is dedicated to exactly what it sounds like -- the senior class helping them clean up the common areas and pack things up where needed. It also serves as an opportunity to make sure they’ve got everything, that they don’t accidentally leave something behind in one of the student areas.

Still, cleaning? The class groans. Zay balls up a piece of paper and tosses it at Farkle, while Yogi starts singing “clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere.”

Nate: Way to go, Minkus!

Farkle holds out his arms. What do you want from me? On the other hand, Asher looks absolutely thrilled by this activity.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Nigel, Yogi, and Jeff handle the dressing room, which thankfully isn’t that hard to tidy up. Most of their stuff has already been removed, and the boys weren’t especially messy to begin with.

Still, best to do their due diligence. Nigel brightens when Dave enters to bring him the techie broom, thanking him as he takes it. But he doesn’t use it to sweep the floors -- he pulls a chair over and carefully climbs onto it.

Jeff: What are you doing?

Nigel doesn’t explain at first, taking the bristle-free end of the broom and prodding at the ceiling tiles above them. He pokes enough to lift them and reveal a glimpse of the area above, cautiously moving along the stretch of the room.

Nigel: When Farkle went on his honesty kick post-kermitting last year, he admitted that he hid my dance shoes in a fit of hysteria. He gave them back, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to check…

Farkle certainly had more than one moment of insanity in the last four years. And Nigel’s theory seems to pan out, one of the ceiling tiles surprisingly hard to lift up with the broom… because it’s weighed down with something else. Nigel continues to push, Dave approaching to help him…

And then the ceiling tile comes crashing down, a small pile of hoarded items falling to the dressing room floor. Dave’s jaw drops open, Nigel pumping his fist and hopping down from the chair. He, Yogi, and Jeff crouch down to assess the haul -- a whole little collection of stolen goods Farkle at one point or another believed in a moment of manic insecurity was worth taking out of his competitors’ hands.

Yogi: OMG, my harmonica?!

Jeff: Is that someone’s retainer? Jesus, he’s like a damn magpie.

Yogi: I haven’t seen this since sophomore year. Welcome home, baby!

Nigel: I think these are Charlie’s spare glasses. He did say they were missing that one week his contacts ran out freshman year.

It’s a baffling, ominous mystery the way Farkle’s mind works… Dave takes the ceiling tile and puts it back into place.

INT. AAA - SCRIPT LIBRARY - DAY

To his credit, though, Farkle has mellowed a lot in the last couple of years. He’s far from hoarding the belongings of his peers as he helps organize and go through the script library one last time, Chai and Isadora helping in the endeavor. And it’s actually not awkward, Chai and Farkle pleasantly discussing a couple of the plays they sort through that they covered during their time at Adams.

Well, it’s not awkward for them. For Isadora, it’s too weird, even though her best friend and her girlfriend getting along should make her feel good. She claims she has to go take care of something else, hastily making her escape.

Neither of them pick up on her odd departure, continuing to dutifully go through the scripts. Chai remarks that Farkle seems super familiar with the library, to which he shrugs.

Farkle: Spent a lot of time in here on my own as punishment for my behavior during junior year.

Chai: Punishment? For being… for trying to --

Farkle: No, no, before that part. I mean, yes, it was because of the depression, but it just came off like ungrateful bitch syndrome. Featuring manic episodes of lashing out at people who really didn’t deserve it.

Chai processes that, struggling to imagine it. She remembers Farkle from before, with his blazer and hysteria and insatiable need for the spotlight, and she knows Farkle now. But the middle is hazy, will always remain hazy, because she wasn’t here to witness the transformation for herself.

Chai: Well, guess it goes to show it’s never too late to turn things around. Change for the better. Believe me, I would know.

Farkle: I know you know. And you’re right. [ a beat ] Honestly, I think that’s part of why the college stuff doesn’t feel as daunting for me. Like, I get why everyone else is stressed or worried, but… when you’ve already had to change so much, in so many major ways… kind of feels like small potatoes.

Chai can agree with that. They’ve already done some of the hardest growth they’ll ever have to -- hopefully, from here, things will be a bit more smooth-sailing.

And they’re proof that sometimes, in a lot of ways, change can be so, so good.

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The girls dressing room, as opposed to the boys, is a bit of a pit even with all their stuff removed. Sugar, spice, and everything nice sure can leave a mess behind… Yindra and Maya are doing their best to clean it, though not without complaint and wonderment towards how they got stuck with this job.

Maya: Everyone wants to see a diva queen suffer. They see a winning bitch and they go oh, let’s hate on her.

Yindra: Amen, sister. And I’m including myself in that. Seeing you suffer has always been a little bit fun.

Fair enough. Maya pauses to pull her hair back out of her face with a rose pink scrunchie -- not her usual choice with her signature locks, but desperate times! -- then watches Yindra for a moment, determining if she wants to say what’s on her mind or not.

Maya: I’m including you in that, too.

Yindra: What, enjoying my suffering? You must’ve had a great four years then, always yanking the spotlight from me.

Maya: No. I meant about being a winning bitch. I respect you, Amino, I hope you know that. I wouldn’t have let you take the star spot in our showdown set if I didn’t. Especially when the stakes were so high.

Yindra: … well, thanks. Not that I needed your approval, but I’m glad you can acknowledge the truth of my excellence.

Maya: And I admire what you’re doing. Going to LA. I know most of the basic bitches here think you’re crazy, but I think you’re ballsy. In this job, hell knows you have to be.

Yindra: I appreciate that. And I guess… you know, sometimes, you have more heart than I give you credit for. Sometimes. Like the idea you had for… it’s cool. So I guess you’re less plastic than I thought.

That seems to leave an impact on Maya. She smiles lightly, then spares them further sentimentality, continuing on an earlier train of thought.

Maya: How did you decide to do it?

Yindra: What? Have a heart? Well, I’m human --

Maya: No, no. LA. Forgoing all the conventional paths and just saying fuck it?

Yindra: There was never really an option to take the conventional path for me.

Maya frowns, not understanding. Yindra tosses some empty hairspray bottles and cosmetics in the trash, clearing the countertop.

Yindra: There was no chance I could ever afford the traditional college path.

Maya: … scholarships…?

Yindra: Scholarships don’t cover everything. Even a full ride will catch you somewhere -- room and board, or class materials, or random service fees. Did you know that one of the classes at Farkle’s precious USC charges their film students over five hundred dollars just to use the editing labs and equipment? For a class they’re forced to take to graduate, that apparently can’t be covered by the tens of thousands they already paid in tuition? [ pointedly ] College is about business in this country, not about learning.

Maya absorbs that, contemplative. Suddenly makes her scholarships to Tisch feel a little less lustrous… Yindra continues.

Yindra: Besides, traditional was never going to work for me anyway. I’m a young Afro-Latina, a Black girl trying to make it in an industry that likes to let in one Black girl a generation -- maybe two, if public pressure is getting a little hot. I know I’m just as talented as any Ari or Miley or Dua, but it’s going to take me a lot more to claw my way to my rightful place amongst their ranks. I don’t have time to waste sitting in some classroom learning the same stuff I’m already killer at. I’d rather take that time and use it to hustle. So in four years when all of you are rolling out of school with your diplomas in whatever, we’ll see who’s made it closer to their goals.

Points well made! Everybody’s path is different… Maya thanks Yindra for spelling it out for her. Yindra nods, then directs her to get back to work.

INT. AAA - PROP LOFT - DAY

Asher is taking full advantage of his final chance to organize the prop loft, making sure everything is in perfect shape. He finishes taping up a detailed instruction guide for how to keep things organized that he typed up, printed, and laminated, smoothing the edges.

Asher: I’ve been training a couple of the underclassmen in the very particular nuances of prop loft maintenance, so I have hope, but it really is such a careful procedure…

Riley and Dylan exchange amused looks, lightly shaking their heads. No way this lasts. Dylan goes back to collecting things from the shelves, picking up any scraps he and Asher left behind in the last four years.

Dylan: So, this is the part of the week where we like, steal stuff, right? Because I’m totally stealing stuff.

Riley focuses on the favored clock prop, smiling at Dylan’s Satan warning next to it. The hands have drifted so close to the 12, just a few minutes off… Riley dutifully pushes them back towards the 9, having been indoctrinated to the tradition.

Riley: I’m sure your efforts will be well appreciated in the future, Asher. You’ve definitely left behind a legacy.

Asher: It wasn’t easy.

Riley: It would be nice to know what impact you’re leaving behind, if any… or even where you’re going when you leave.

Dylan: Still haven’t decided about Tisch?

Riley reluctantly shakes her head. Everyone seems to think the choice should seem obvious, but she doesn’t know. Maybe she’s just indecisive, or an overthinker, but…

Dylan: I think it makes sense. You made a decision, and then something came in and threw you all upside down. That makes it seem confusing no matter what the new information is.

Riley: Okay, but it’s like… Tisch. Shouldn’t that feel obvious? Shouldn’t I have felt… I don’t know, illuminated when I heard?

Dylan: Sure… if you really want to go. Maybe it isn’t as important to you as you thought. Rejection hurts, so maybe it just stung to lose out but not so much because you cared about it specifically.

Asher: Or, your brain is convincing you otherwise. I know that feeling better than anybody. Even when something goes your way, your mind weasels its way in and loads second guesses on top of it until you can’t even remember what you were psyched about in the first place.

Dylan: I guess it depends on what you want to get out of school. Is performing the end all be all, that important to you?

Asher: Or does it matter at all? You were excited about getting to try a bunch of different stuff at Barnard.

That’s the problem, boys! She doesn’t know! It’s like they’re verbalizing both sides of her mind right now, and she can’t even begin to figure out what the answer is, what she actually wants. It’s almost paralyzing.

For now, Asher figures they should change the subject. She’s still got a little time to think about it, and until she decides, her acceptance to Barnard isn’t going anywhere. They won’t even know she’s bailing, in fact, until she pulls the plug and jumps ship.

Riley nods, agreeing, and lets Asher pull her back into tidying up the prop tables. They shift to chatting about legacy again, how all of them are gonna be gone in a few days and a whole new crop of students will wander into AAA and probably mess all of this up. Ha ha ha.

Dylan smiles along as he goes through the cubby hole where he usually stuck notes for Asher, flipping through a couple of stray ones. Yeah… just a few more days… Dylan’s expression grows more bittersweet, but he swallows it and manages to renew his smile as he folds up the notes and sticks them in his back pocket.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Charlie is up in the loft for the first time in over a year, helping catalogue costumes for inventory. Well, he’s supposed to be doing that, but he’s more so just leisurely looking through the costumes on the racks, expression fondly melancholy. He finds his Jack costume from Into the Woods, smile widening, gently touching the fabric. Crazy, how many memories can exist in one piece of clothing… in one secluded space…

He lifts his gaze when he hears someone else climbing up the stepladder to the loft, Zay appearing a few moments later. The two of them meet each other’s eyes, surprised to see the other, especially given how unwillingly accustomed Zay had become to never seeing Charlie in Adams ever again. Talk about loaded history…

Then Zay smiles, breaking the uncertainty. He finishes climbing into the loft.

Zay: Figures you’d be up here. I should’ve known.

Charlie: Why? Because I just love costumes so much?

Zay: No, because God or the spaghetti monster or whoever the fuck is roleplaying our lives loves a sick motif. Think I’d be more arrogant about my adjacent atheism if I climbed up here and you weren’t here.

Charlie: So why’d you come up here, then? Just to look?

Just to find him? Zay pauses, not having any good excuse to claim otherwise. He shrugs noncommittally and turns away towards the other rack of costumes. Charlie can’t help but smile, focusing back on the Jack costume.

For a few moments, silence reigns. Zay breaks it with a mischievous laugh, pulling Charlie’s attention back towards him as he pulls a costume off the rack. Maya’s Mme Thénardier gown of rags from Les Misérables. Charlie approaches to get a better look at it.

Zay: Remember how pissy Maya was during this show? She had the fucking best female role --

Charlie: Well, I don’t know if everyone would agree with that.

Zay: And she was so mad about it. She is legit so unhinged. [ re: the costume ] And she even looked great, too. Jade was making killer threads even sophomore year. Great role, great aesthetic, and she still had the balls to complain. [ a beat ] Not as great as me as Jean Valjean, naturally, but --

Charlie, softly: I remember.

Zay lifts his gaze, meeting Charlie’s, who is already looking at him. Of course he remembers how good he was as Valjean -- at that point, Charlie was barely thinking of anything else most days. Even with how scary it sometimes felt at the time, he doesn’t intend to forget it any time soon.

He remembers everything.

It’s all that memory that makes standing in this loft together, closer than before, so difficult to do. Hard to handle without caving under it, falling back into a familiar way of being that they agreed and understood wouldn’t be smart. Not with circumstances being as they are, with the clock ticking down like it is.

Maybe Charlie was right. Maybe separating would’ve been futile if he’d stayed last year, if the way they feel now sharing the space again is any indication. Zay searches for a way to break them free, clearing his throat.

Zay: There’s something I never told you about being up here, actually.

Charlie: [ raising his eyebrows ] What?

Zay: Swear in God’s name you won’t get mad.

Charlie: Now you’re scaring me. What did you do?

Zay: Promise me, Charlie. Swear on Skippy’s grave.

Charlie: That’s so twisted. But fine, I swear. If Skippy dies tomorrow, I’m never speaking to you again.

That’s a risk he’s going to have to take. And to be fair, Charlie doesn’t seem all that concerned -- there’s a playful nature to the back and forth, a freedom that comes with not being so afraid to be yourself. Everyone at Adams knows about him now, so at this point, there’s not much he’s trying to hide anymore.

Zay puts the Les Mis costume back on the rack, drawing out the suspense.

Zay: Do you remember, one of those times when you were like spiraling over the same old shit and were convinced everyone was onto us even though they just thought you had a crush on Maya --

Charlie: I still don’t know what I possibly did that gave people that impression, but yes.

Zay: Heteronormativity is a strong lens. Anyway, I started teasing you -- you know, just to get you to calm down, of course --

Charlie, flatly: Of course…

Zay: And I jokingly told you I carved our initials into the wall? [ off his nod ] Well. I may… not have been… entirely joking.

Charlie’s eyes widen, jaw dropping open slightly.

Charlie: What?

Zay holds up a hand to halt his reaction. Don’t freak. He steps around him and scans the rack against the back wall of the loft, searching for the right place. He thinks he lands on it, finding his old Prince costume from Cinderella in freshman year and gently shoving it to the side.

Bingo. He nods for Charlie to join him, pushing the costumes apart just enough to reveal his secret. A marking left in black Sharpie, the same one he was using to jot down performance notes on his forearm back in 204.

D + C.

Dizzy and Chuckles. Not their actual initials, but clear enough that they know. Even if no one else has any idea, they know exactly what it means.

Charlie’s expression is hard to read, but undeniably soft. He reaches and gently brushes his fingers over the letters -- Sharpie that’s been on brick that long is never coming out.

Zay: I know lying is a sin. [ glancing at him ] Sorry.

Charlie isn’t looking for an apology. He shifts his gaze to look at him, that familiar tension reemerging with a vengeance. This time, Zay might not be deft enough to divert it.

Thankfully, they have help. Nigel interrupts as he climbs into the loft, disrupting the haze of each other. Zay swiftly pushes the costumes back into place as Charlie blinks off the moment, running a hand through his hair.

Nigel: Hey, funny finding you two up here. Probably like the last folks I’d predict to stumble upon in this place.

The comment is so earnestly oblivious, it’s kind of hysterical. Zay and Charlie exchange a knowing look, using every ounce of strength they have in them not to burst out laughing. Charlie bites his lip and looks away, because holding his eye contact might just make him break.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Darby, Haley, and Clarissa are center stage, working together to sweep up now that the set pieces have officially been taken down. As they joke and chatter, we pan up from them, high above the stage…

INT. AAA - CATWALK - DAY

To the catwalk, where Lucas has taken up residency. He’s leaning against the rails with his elbows propped on his knees, casually watching the A class tidy up below while he does nothing.

Isadora finds him there as she’s seeking refuge, scoffing in amusement. She comes to join him, settling down opposite him as she comments on his lack of participation.

Lucas: I have spent the last four years cleaning up their messes against my will and without acknowledgement because it was my “job.” Think they can handle one day of labor without me.

Isadora: Fair enough. Don’t think any of them could argue you on it.

Damn straight. Lucas smirks cheekily, the two of them settling into comfortable silence.

Isadora: You excited for it? [ off his eyebrow raise ] Davis.

Lucas: Kind of. Like, yeah. But I think my brain has some kind of mental block up where it’s almost like I can’t process it. Like if I think about it too much, I’ll prove it’s not real. That it’ll just disappear.

Isadora: I get that. I get your brain not letting you enjoy things.

Yeah, they have always shared some similar thought patterns… Lucas shrugs.

Lucas: It’ll be kinda weird. Just… not being where everyone else is.

Isadora: Really? After four years of saying you wished for the opposite.

Lucas: I know, I know. I’m a fraud. [ picking at a hangnail ] I don’t know, guess it was different then. Back then, you know… didn’t really have…

It’s easy to disavow everyone when you don’t have a support system. It’s harder when you suddenly have something to lose. Isadora nods, sparing him the vulnerability of having to explain it all. 

Isadora: You’ll be fine, though. No one’s gonna fuck with you, and you know you’ve got all of us here to reach out to if you need us. You’re such a shitty texter already anyway, it honestly won’t even be that different.

Lucas: Wow, how optimistic. Coming from you.

Isadora: For real. But I don’t know, I mean it. Actually, weirdly enough, you’re like the one person I’m not worried about leaving.

Lucas: Gee, thanks. I’m gonna miss you, too.

Isadora scoffs, rolling her eyes. She nudges his knee.

Isadora: Not like that. Just like… I know we’re gonna be okay. You know? We’ll stay the same. And it’s kind of crazy, honestly, since a year or so ago either one of us going in a different direction felt like the end of the fucking world.

Lucas: Kinda was.

Isadora: Now… I’m not worried. You’re Lucas, I know who you are. I know what we are. And I know when you come back, everything is gonna go back to exactly how it is now.

If only she could find that sense of peace with everyone else… Lucas shrugs again, but he nods, confirming he knows the feeling.

Lucas: Guess that’s family, or whatever.

Huh… yeah. Family isn’t always the people who you’re bound to by blood -- she knows that better than anybody. That seems to hit something for Isadora, expression brightening slightly like the lightbulb has gone off over her head.

They’re pulled out of their conversation by excited chatter below, glancing over the sides of the catwalk to look.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Jade has wheeled out one of the racks from the costume loft on the lower level, one full of pieces their class specifically wore at one point or another in the last four years. The seniors flock to come take a look for themselves, pulling certain items off the rack and reminiscing about them. Riley remarks how much she’d love to wear the Cinderella ball gown from Into the Woods one more time; Chai commends Darby’s bitchin’ rainbow faux fur coat from “Midnight Sky”; Yindra pulls her showdown ensemble off the rack and again praises Jade for how insanely gorgeous it is. She has to be at least half of the reason they won showdown, her costume work alone.

Nigel: Everybody say thank you, Jade.

A Class, from all over: Thank you, Jade!

Jade blushes, lightly elbowing Nigel. Farkle comments it’s crazy, just how many costumes and concepts they’ve gone through in four years. How many memories are packed into those four years.

The heaviness is starting to creep up on them, that weight of an impending end… but Riley isn’t going to let it. Not quite yet. She keeps the spirits high by declaring this is the time to be thinking about all those memories -- and it doesn’t have to be pensive.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Come So Far (Got So Far To Go)” as performed by Hairspray Original Movie Cast || Performed by AAA Seniors

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

Any song from Hairspray is a guaranteed serotonin boost, so Riley kicked us off right! She leads the rendition to start but it doesn’t take long for her peers to jump in with lines of their own. They start the first verse on the stage, spinning with the costumes, then they make their way off the stage and down into the house. As they rev up to the first chorus, they “hit the gas” and make their way out the doors of the auditorium --

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

And burst into the atrium, taking the momentum out into the halls. The school is theirs to roam for the week, damn it, and they’re going to take advantage!

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

As they slide into the next verse while traversing through the halls and serenading one another, the other aspect of this performance quickly becomes clear -- they’re cycling in and out of iconic costumes and outfits they’ve worn throughout the series, leaning into a more imaginary, nostalgic take on the number. Riley dons her famous blue Belle dress; Farkle struts in the shiny pants he wore for his “Not the Boy Next Door” audition in 111; Charlie spends a few moments rocking his “Superstar” punk rock look again. Zay swaps from his Prince-esque suit jacket from his Kossal audition to his Into the Woods Prince ensemble; Asher serves in his fluffy red diva coat from Comfort Zone week.

And that’s just a sampling. The theming becomes even more vivid when we hit the bridge about halfway through, as the A class moves as a collective sweep of choreography through the halls and dons some of the group looks they pulled off throughout the series. Their minimalist-turned-iconic Hamilton looks from “Yorktown” in 107; their Les Misérables poor, ragged French people ensembles; the painstakingly cool 70s outfits that Jade struggled to pull off in the nick of time in 307. The techies lead the charge at one point, all donning their fabulous and zany “Dancing Queen” looks from 108 -- and pulling them off even more confidently now than they did then.

The highway’s rocky every now and then But it’s so much better than where I’ve been!

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

They make it to the empty cafeteria, converging on the tables and taking over, now all in their Senior Showdown outfits. Yes, even Charlie -- he’s given an honorary Adams Senior Showdown costume of his own for this moment, because he was always meant to be up there with them. They all hop up onto the tables and groove together through the rest of the bridge, rivaling the excellence of many of the epic numbers this cafeteria has seen (“Dancin’ On the Sidewalk,” “Lookin’ At Me,” “Classic,” to name a few). And no one is aiming to set the fire alarm off this time!

On the showstopping belt moment, all of them lean fully into the melodrama and tilt their heads back to sing it out, throwing their arms up or leaning over or whatever over the top, silly version of that feels truest to them.

Let’s keep cruisin’ the road we’re on Because the rearview mirror only shows what’s gone, gone, gone!

Then they jump off the tables, near High School Musical style, before continuing their sprint through the school on that fast-spinning engine.

EXT. AAA - LUNCH COURTYARD - DAY

The parade through the school continues, passing by the lunch courtyard. We watch the A class through the windows as they declare their intent to keep moving forward, running freely in that direction.

So shine that light, take my hand And let’s dance into tomorrow land!

Asher jumps on Dylan’s back, while Riley takes Lucas’s hand and tugs him along in their race with everyone else.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

And we make it back outside the auditorium by the final chorus, only this time we’re more decidedly in the atrium. Now, the A class are all dressed in Adams Academy spirit wear, a sea of red, white, and gold tees, sweatshirts, and tank tops well-worn after so many years. They’re spread out across the floor and along the staircase, dancing with as much precision and flourish as they ever will -- and the choreography here is an amalgamation of homages to iconic group numbers they’ve done throughout the seasons.

As they hit the last synchronized step and descend into the vamping that takes us out, they start a pseudo line dance out of the school, each of them grooving through the front doors and out into the real world. We watch their silhouettes disappear into the golden setting sunlight, the image slowly fading to black as the vocals ease away.

Break 1.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - DAY

Isadora once again sits across from Dr. Cook for her second appointment of the week. She waits while Dr. Cook looks through the evaluation sheets Isadora just completed.

Dr. Cook: Your anxiety levels have increased somewhat, but that’s hardly surprising. Other than that, everything is the same as two weeks ago.

Dr. Cook puts the papers down and opens up the notebook resting on her lap. 

Dr. Cook: What do you think would be the most beneficial way to spend this appointment? We could try and dig into this anxiety like we did before, or we can figure out another way to approach it. 

Isadora: Actually, I was hoping to discuss something else with you today.

Oh? Dr. Cook raises an eyebrow. Isadora launches into an explanation of a topic she’s been avoiding thus far, but has to bring out if she wants to steer them away from graduation and college talk...

Her Farkle thing. As she describes what happened at prom, Dr. Cook listens intently, nodding every now and then and making notes.

Dr. Cook: Okay. That’s… interesting. Why are you only telling me this now? It seems like it’s pretty major. 

Isadora: I’ve been blocking all thoughts of it from my mind. 

Dr. Cook: Why’s that?

Isadora: Because I don’t want to think about it.

With a sigh, Dr. Cook reminds Isadora to take her therapy seriously. After Isadora apologizes for being difficult, she says that with everything else going on right now, she just doesn’t have the energy to process whatever it is she feels about Farkle. It’s too big and scary.

Dr. Cook: Is that why you got back together with Chai? So that you can avoid your feelings for Farkle and focus on somebody else? 

Isadora: No. [ a beat as Dr. Cook waits for her to expand ] It’s not like that. I genuinely want to be with Chai. We care about each other; we’re good together. Why shouldn’t I get back together with her?

Dr. Cook: Because you have feelings for somebody else. 

Isadora: But they’re not even feelings. It’s just… something. Something I don’t even understand. What’s that got to do with Chai? It’s separate. Why can’t it just be separate? I want to be with Chai, so that’s what I’m doing.

This is uncharted territory for Dr. Cook, but she’s had her suspicions something like this would crop up for a while now.

Dr. Cook: If Chai wasn’t a factor, if you two weren’t dating, how would you feel? Would you want to be in a relationship with Farkle?

Would she… with… no answer is coming to Isadora, so she does what she does best. Swiftly moves on, ignoring the question altogether. 

Isadora: We can invite people to come to the graduation ceremony. Most of us have four tickets each, but I don’t have anyone to invite. I’m going to be the only one there with empty seats.

Dr. Cook sighs, very accustomed to Isadora’s avoidant tendencies by now. 

Dr. Cook: Avoiding problems doesn’t solve them, it just means they last longer. You have to address it at some point. 

Isadora: I don’t know how, though. My brain can’t turn feelings into words and then say them. It makes me too vulnerable.

Dr. Cook: What if you write them? It helped when you wrote to your father.

Isadora: I don’t have anyone to write to.

Dr. Cook: It doesn’t have to be for anybody else, it can just be for you.

Isadora, not understanding: Why would I send a letter to myself?

Dr. Cook doesn’t bother trying to explain, already knowing that it would take up a fair chunk of their time. Instead, she tells Isadora to write to whoever she would want to talk about all of this with. They don’t have to be real, or alive, or somebody she knows personally.

Isadora nods in understanding, and tentatively agrees to give it a go. Dr. Cook turns a page in her notebook and goes back to the topic of graduation ceremony tickets.

INT. TOPANGA’S HOUSE - NIGHT

Riley is attending another fancy TOPANGA LAWRENCE dinner party, this one theoretically in her honor as a preemptive reward for graduating. That’s the impression, anyway, but like most things in Topanga’s world, it’s really just an excuse to gloat. The gathering is mainly made up of Topanga’s colleagues and friends, all of whom are familiar with Riley as a concept but don’t exactly know her.

Thank God for Lucas. He’s accompanying Riley once again, someone who actually knows her to keep her grounded and sane. Both of them are seated together at one end of the table, dressed in cute semi-formal clothes and chatting quietly with each other while Topanga loudly entertains her guests over the meal.

They’ve made it to the dessert portion at this point, though, which means the time has come to set the focus on Riley. Topanga clears her throat and gets their attention, leading the table in a congratulatory toast to Riley and all her successful endeavors to come. She specifically makes sure to mention all of the amazing traits she inherited from her.

The toast puts all eyes on her, prompting some of Topanga’s guests to politely inquire as to what the future looks like for her. One of them even bothers to engage Lucas in conversation, which seems to catch him off guard for a moment. He’s quite shy around such important company -- important to Riley’s stress levels, at least -- in a way most of his classmates probably wouldn’t believe he’s capable of being.

Guest: And what will you be doing post-graduation, Lucas?

Lucas: Oh. Um, I’ll be attending the University of California. At Davis.

Guest 2: That’s not an easy school to get into! Congratulations.

Riley, proudly: He’s going to be a veterinarian.

Ooh, how lovely! The guests twitter positively about that, commending Lucas for his ambitions and obviously remarkable academic performance. Lucas gives Riley a look out of the corner of his eye, which she responds to with a bright smile. She won’t be downplaying his achievements, no sir!

Topanga nudges the topic back towards Riley, commenting that she also has some admission achievements worth bragging about. She was accepted into NYU Tisch. The gathered guests react accordingly, congratulating her and oohing and ahhing at her prospects.

Topanga: Though, of course, it hardly means much. Riley isn’t accepting the offer.

Riley, sharply: Mom.

Topanga: What, is that not the case? If you were going to, I’d think you would have by now. [ a beat, then explanatory ] Riley is choosing to go to Barnard College instead.

Guest: Oh, I’ve heard excellent things about that school. All womens, yes?

Riley: Yes. I was mainly looking forward to --

Topanga: Tisch is incredibly difficult to get into, you know. The acceptance rate is extremely competitive. But naturally Riley got in, there’s no doubt about how talented she is. Though she doesn’t take many opportunities to demonstrate that ability.

Guest: There’s no need to be shy, Riley. If you got in, certainly your talents spoke for themselves.

Riley: It’s not that I would say I’m shy, it’s…

Topanga: This is just classic Riley. Very indecisive. Don’t know where she got it from, considering you all know me -- I’m as assertive and decisive as they come! If it were up to me, the decision would be all wrapped up by now, ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha, indeed. The guests laugh along, already long since charmed by Topanga’s unique personality with no deeper understanding of how that affects Riley.

Except Lucas. He glances at her and then clears his throat.

Lucas: The thing about Riley is she’ll be spectacular wherever she goes, in whatever she decides to pursue. So I don’t see how taking some time to think all her options through does any harm in the long run.

A very tactful, very true point. The assembled guests respond affirmatively to that, taking away some of Topanga’s power and lessening some of the pressure on Riley. She gazes at Lucas gratefully, slipping her hand on top of his under the table. He flips his hand to link their fingers together, squeezing lightly.

Topanga: I suppose you’re right about that. Especially Tisch -- I mean, if you heard her voice… in fact, why don’t we hear a little something?

Riley: Um, what?

Topanga: Yes, Riley, show them a bit of what you showed the admissions panel! You all will love her, she has the most gentle, unobtrusive soprano.

Riley: Mom, I really don’t think…

Oh, but the guests are all over it. Please, Riley! Just one tune! Anything you’ve got to share! Riley hesitates and then sheepishly agrees, feeling like a show pony as she gets to her feet and heads over to the grand piano Topanga has set up for show but never uses. The guests get up and follow her to the living area, comfortably settling in around the room to listen.

Riley tinkers on the piano for a few moments, testing out keys and frantically searching her brain for what to possibly play on the spot like this. Once she decides, she takes a deep breath and raises her head, finding Lucas in the room. Her anchor. He gives her a soft smile.

As long as he’s there, she’ll be okay. She clears her throat, then gently plays the opening notes.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Thank You For The Music” as performed by Mamma Mia! Original Movie Cast || Performed by Riley Matthews

Riley matches Amanda Seyfried’s delicate, enjoyable vocals to a tee, and the humble, grateful lyrics to the simple tune are perfect for her. It’s an easy rendition to pull out of nowhere when her mother suddenly forces her to play for the crowd, and allows her to show off some of her piano skills as well. The gathered guests are simply enchanted, Topanga watching proudly from her perch but more concerned with eyeing the reactions of her assembly than Riley.

But that’s okay, because she’s hardly getting the most interesting part of the performance.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Riley occupies the fictional space of the Adams stage for half of the performance, intercutting seamlessly between her mindspace and reality. She introduces the imaginary at the start of the second verse, dressed plainly in ballet clothes with a leotard, tights, and a lavender chiffon ballet skirt.

The cutest element though is that in her mindscape, she’s not alone. She dances with each of her main men in the fictional rendition -- a quick pas de deux with Charlie (“Mother says I was a dancer before I could walk”), a spin and twirl with Zay (“she says I began to sing long before I could talk”). She does a playful sort of waltz with Dylan, who then spins her towards her usual duet partner…

Who found out that nothing could capture a heart...

And Lucas catches her, like he always does, carefully dipping her as she continues to sing.

INT. TOPANGA’S HOUSE - NIGHT

Riley finishes the line looking directly at Lucas, aptly speaking to the lyrics. There’s no denying her first true melody, “Rose’s Turn,” is what captured his heart… though he’d probably refute it for consistency sake if anybody asked. Regardless, it hardly matters, because what matters now is how subtly enamored he looks as he holds her gaze.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

And so she and Lucas share a dance through the next chorus, Lucas naturally getting the longest stretch of pas de deux with her. It’s as they usually are, where she’s doing more of the actual dancing and he’s following along, spinning and lifting her, supporting her in every moment she needs to be supported.

INT. TOPANGA’S HOUSE - NIGHT

When she reaches the bridge, she cuts between singing at the piano and singing on the stage, but in both cases she finally forgets about the eyes on her and fully loses herself in the performance. That’s when she’s most compelling to watch, when she’s singing for the sake of singing rather than trying to impress or placate anybody else.

What a joy, what a life, what a chance!

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Then she finishes the number out dancing by herself, reminding us that she’s actually quite the competent dancer on her own merits, too. It’s most enjoyable because it’s free, Riley dancing for no one but herself. It’s evident that performing is important to her, affirming, something incredibly meaningful to her way of life.

But that doesn’t mean she wants to do it forever. That it’s the answer to her future dilemmas.

INT. TOPANGA’S HOUSE - NIGHT

Riley wraps up the performance, clinking out the final notes on the piano. The room bursts into polite, enthusiastic applause, Riley offering a shy smile and twirling the end of her braid.

One Topanga-fueled show off complete, but no steps closer to her path.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Another day, another mystery activity. Zay’s turn to reach into the mug, though there’s only two slips to choose from left. He still milks it though, choosing very cautiously as the title card alerts us again to the passage of time.

Wednesday.

He settles on a slip, pulling it out and reading it for himself. His expression goes flat, and he shoots a look towards Eric and Harper to make sure this isn’t a joke. They don’t betray anything with their expressions, encouraging him to go on and read it.

Zay: Can I pick a different one?

Eric: No.

Sarah: What could it possibly be?

Dave: Are we finally doing Hunger Games?

Farkle: Why would we be -- ?

Dave: Like I said last time, Minkus, I won’t hesitate!

But no, it’s not The Hunger Games -- though Zay looks about as thrilled as if it were. Harper nudges him to share with the class. Go on. Don’t be shy. Zay rolls his eyes, holding up the slip and sighing dramatically.

Zay: It says paint balloon.

PAINT BALLOON? As in, paint war part dos?! The class reacts accordingly, a mixture of glee, excitement, and dread. Eric confirms with a grin, explaining that one activity each year is always geared towards recreating a memorable and unique experience that the senior class had -- and the infamous parking lot paint battle was the obvious choice here.

Isadora: Better that than Honesty Week.

Maya: Or vandalism.

Nigel: Got multiple vandalisms to choose from.

ANYWAY… this time, they’ll be doing things just a bit differently than the first time. Now that they’re no longer so strictly techie versus performers anymore, they can really have fun with this and make it a game of equal teams… not to mention there’s another little twist on top of that. Fate will be picking their teams, in the same tradition of how they used to do duet weeks. Shawn places the infamous bowl on the piano at the center of the classroom.

But that’s not all… Harper places another, smaller paper clip dish on the piano next to it. This one? Holds the names of Jack, Eric, Harper, and Shawn. Yes, this time, the faculty will be participating in the paint war as well.

Now things are getting interesting. The A class has perked up, ready to get going. Before they kick off, though, they’ll need team captains. Eric gives Jack the honors, allowing him to choose the first two names from the student bowl which will determine who’s leading the rival teams.

And so he does. Nate leads a drum roll on the desks, preempting the first name draw… of Maya. She claps and leaps to her feet, flipping her hair over her shoulder and going to join the faculty at the front. Like, naturally! As if there was ever any doubt who deserves to lead!

Nate: Rigged.

Jack retrieves the second name, holding the class in suspense… then dramatically declaring the second team captain who will be waging war against Maya Hart.

Jack: Asher Garcia.

Oh, SHIT! Now we’re really talking stakes! The techies cheer and holler as Asher accepts the challenge, getting to his feet and coming to join them at the front. It’s almost fated, really, that the two biggest rivals at Adams should captain opposing teams in a scrap to the death during their final week stuck in the same hellish building together.

Since this is a paint war, which is guaranteed to be a messy affair, Harper instructs them to put on a shirt of the appropriate size once the teams have been assorted -- black for Maya’s team, white for Asher’s. She’ll hand them out as they go, so Maya and Asher can begin drawing names whenever they’re ready.

Baby, let the games begin… Maya beats Asher to drawing first, sticking her hand in the bowl before he can even flinch. She retrieves a name, humming in satisfaction.

Maya: Isadora.

Not a bad start! Isadora happily rises to go stand by Maya, accepting a black shirt from Shawn. Asher takes his turn, closing his eyes and willing the fates to give him what he wants…

They seem to be in his favor. He exhales in relief, holding up the slip.

Asher: Dylan.

Dylan whoops, jumping up and patting Asher on the shoulders as he comes to join him. Nate laughs hysterically, in disbelief.

Nate: How? How is this shit not rigged?

It’s called soulmatism, Nathaniel! Anyway, they’ve got names to pull. The next few occur without much fanfare. Maya pulls Jade, Sarah, Haley, and Farkle, the latter of which pleases her greatly. Asher pulls Yindra, Yogi, Chai, and Riley, who eagerly comes to join them and rushes into Dylan’s embrace.

But not everything could go so swimmingly. Maya draws the next name, actually snorting when she reads it.

Maya: Lucas James. [ mockingly ] Sorry, Bert and Ernie.

Lucas doesn’t seem like he could care less, but he slouches over to Maya’s team anyway. Dylan gets their team to boo him.

Dylan: Blood traitor!

Lucas: I didn’t pick the names!

A likely story, Lucas! Asher lets Dylan pick the next name for them, which he does with great theatrics. He lets his hand swirl in the bowl, manifesting an excellent pick… taking his sweet time… compelling the multiverse…

Maya: Please. Take all week.

He retrieves a slip with a flourish, conspiratorially taking his time to read it on his own. His expression is pure sunshine when he does, remarkably excited as he pumps his fist and shouts the name.

Dylan: Charlie Gardner!

That’s the spirit we’re looking for! Charlie is bashful but clearly touched to be so enthusiastically picked. Whether it’s because he’s a strong athlete or simply because Dylan has an inexplicable fondness for him, the baby gay they’ve been nurturing and rooting for from afar, well, who’s to say.

They pull the rest of the student names, Team Asher securing Zay, Clarissa, and Darby, while Team Maya recruits Nigel, Nate, and Dave.

Maya: [ re: Dave ] Excellent. Human shield.

All that leaves is Jeff, standing at the desks alone. Eric tells him to rest assured, they’ve got a role for him as the odd one out -- referee. Jack tosses him a whistle, which he catches easily.

Jeff, pleased: Sick.

And he’s got techie friends on both teams, so he’s not likely to pick sides. That just leaves the divvying up of the faculty… Maya pulls Eric and Harper, while Asher gets Jack and Shawn.

So all there’s left to do is play ball...oon. Eric reiterates that this is a playful war, instructing Maya and Asher to keep things civil and fair. He has them shake on it, instilling good sportsmanship from the start rather than letting things escalate too late like last time.

You may as well be asking them to stab themselves, Eric… but for the good of Senior Week, they’ll oblige. Maya and Asher stare each other down as the heartbeat opening starts up, tension building until they sharply clasp hands to shake and the song explodes into action --

Get ready, game on!

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

​​Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Now Or Never” as performed by High School Musical 3: Senior Year Original Movie Cast || Performed by AAA Seniors

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

The hype is real as we launch into the paint war sequence, the A class marching out onto asphalt. It’s much easier to see who is on what team from a distance this time with the matching shirts, Asher’s team congregating on the west side of the lot while Maya’s groups in the east.

That, and the faculty really went all out to set up the field. They’ve used scraps and old set pieces / rolling flats as obstacles and potential refuge spots, so now it actually feels more like a paintball arena. There’s also a couple of junk cars scattered throughout the lot, which are due to be taken to the junkyard later this week, so lots of terrain to work with.

This is basically as close to a sporting event as Adams will get, and the intensity sure feels like a championship game! We get our High School Musical 3: Senior Year homage in with this track, Asher and Maya each rallying their teams before Jeff blows his whistle and the games begin.

For the first half, the paint war is basically about as disorganized as it was the first time around, taking out a bunch of contenders fast so that the stakes can be higher in the second half when only a few untarnished folks remain. The early strategy for both teams is just hit as many people as you can, and the A class is not taking that task lightly!

Maya uses Farkle and Dave as her human shields, directing shots across the lot. Isadora works as her general on the ground, getting in targeted shots on some of Asher’s stronger players -- Darby, Chai (which earns a cheeky girlfriend exchange after she gets hit), and a well-orchestrated takedown of Jack. She tries to get Dylan with help from Nate, but he’s slippery and hard to nab with his gymnastics and general high energy.

Lucas, on the other hand, is useless. He completely ignores the assignment and focuses mainly on protecting Riley from getting too dirty, which pisses Maya off considering she’s not on our team, Friar! But he doesn’t give a shit, shrugging and flipping her the bird and earning a smack of blue paint in the process. In fact, Riley and Lucas spend a majority of the paint battle laughingly trying not to get involved, shrinking away from the bloodier paint moments and ducking behind stuff.

Maya: Traitor! Jeff, swap with Friar and get in the game!

Jeff: No fucking way! And do you really want Asher’s best friend as the referee?

Damn it! Maya growls, nudging her human shields forward but not before giving Lucas a return middle finger.

As we slide into the second verse, the game really picks up. Zay and Charlie are recreating their successful routine from sophomore year, working as a tag team to target certain key players as directed by Asher. He’ll signal to them from his safety perch wherever he’s hiding (in a pitch to be the last one standing clean), and they’ll take them out -- including Eric, Isadora, and Nigel.

Nigel: Et tu, Isaiah?! Et tu?!

But their tactical approach isn’t without risk. Isadora stages a counter attack with help from Nate, Jade, and Farkle to knock the dancers out of the running, launching an offense that Zay just barely manages to avoid the worst of -- because Charlie saves him. He pulls Zay down out of the way behind one of the junk cars but not before he gets hit with a barrage of paint.

Powder paint is also in the air as all of this is unfolding, lending a sense of smoke and gunpowder to the drama -- except pretty and colorful, because it’s a paint battle. Asher rises up on one of the set pieces to try and assess the damage to his best attackers, trying to get Zay to tell him how badly Charlie is hit. He’s so invested in the strategy, he’s distracted… leaving him vulnerable and open to attack. Maya zeroes in on this and directs Isadora and Nate to turn on him, loaded paint balloons heading right for him.

But Dylan sees it first. He sprints in slow motion across the parking lot, leaping into the air to intercept the attack and taking all three paint balloons intended for Asher straight to the torso -- right as the dramatic bridge hits two and half minutes in. Asher’s jaw drops as he watches his lover fall, but then he’s pulled down and out of the way from further attack by Shawn, who grabs him around the torso and yanks him from view. Maya pumps her fist triumphantly. One twink out!

Man down, man down! Jeff blows his whistle to call a time out. The world gets a little blurry and faraway and Dylan rolls over on the concrete, trying to catch his breath. All around him, it sounds like people are shouting for him just like Troy -- Dyl! Dylan! From one angle, Nate is laughing at him, having successfully taken him out. Then, a beacon arises from the paint haze, Asher climbing on top of the junk car and calling for him.

Asher: DYLLLLLLLLLL!

The two of them share Troy and Gabriella’s extremely melodramatic but iconic exchange, Dylan rallying Asher and giving him the strength to finish what they started.

Asher: Right now I can hardly breathe.

Dylan: Oh, you can do it. Just know that I believe!

Asher: And that’s all I really need --

In the midst of this, Maya makes a face and holds out her arms. Like, really? This bullshit?

Dylan: Then come on!

Asher: Make me strong --

Asher finishes the line by jumping back into the action, nodding to Jeff to let play resume. He hops down off the car and reunites with Zay and Charlie.

And now we’re down to the final quarter. There’s only two clean players left on either side -- Maya and Asher, the team captains in some form of poetic narrative nonsense. But there’s nothing in the rules that paint-stricken players can’t still participate, so they’re able to mobilize whoever they want to finish off this battle.

Maya sticks to putting other players out on offense while she stays on defense, but Asher takes a different approach. He pulls Zay and Charlie into strategizing, willing to jump into the fray himself this time, risking his clean victory to finish this once and for all. Once the three of them agree on the plan, they break, heading in opposite directions.

And we watch their playbook unfold as the song crescendos to the end, Zay and Charlie distracting Farkle, Nate, and Dave from different corners of the lot as decoys while Riley manages to distract Isadora by pulling her into an argument about Lucas’s lack of participation -- it’s easy to manipulate her when her competitive edge is on fire.

Maya underestimated Asher’s willingness to get his hands dirty to take her down -- and that was her biggest mistake. While she’s got eyes on Zay and Charlie, she’s lost track of Bird Bones… and she doesn’t realize until it’s too late. In the final thirty seconds of the battle, she whips around to find Asher aiming right for her, him lobbing his red paint balloon at the same time as Charlie and Zay make last-ditch throws from either side of the field where they’re being blocked by Team Maya defenders.

But like some karmic twist, each shot hits its mark. Maya gets lobbed with blue and orange from both sides and takes a whopping red hit to the chest, soaking her in paint and ending the game. Jeff blows his whistle, waiting for a nod from Jack and Eric to confirm --

TEAM ASHER WINS!

WOOOOOOO! The team regroups, pulling Asher down from his spot on the roof of a junked car to pull him into a group hug. They did it! Suckers! Dylan gives Asher a victory kiss, smudging his otherwise clean face with yellow paint from his hands.

The colorful faculty gathers everyone again and Jack gives them ample congratulations, but also commends all of them for actually playing a fun, clean game without killing each other. Nate agrees, casually congratulating Asher (“gg, gg,”)... before signaling to the techies, who all take care to bomb Asher with a bunch of paint just for good measure.

Asher: No, no, no…

Just because he won the game paint-free doesn’t mean he gets to stay that way! No one is getting off this paint field un-rainbowed, bitch!

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

The A class is assembled in the black box again, all looking as though they returned fresh from a Festival of Colors. Some of them are haplessly trying to scrub some of it off with washcloths -- Asher uselessly trying to salvage his hair -- but it’s no use. It’s gonna take a deep clean shower to fix this mess.

And that’s not a loss. There’s a special joy looking at the class gathered as they are now, a colorful and cheerful array of paint splatters in every color of the rainbow -- fitting given that the original event of this kind, the Hindu Holi festival, is a celebration of love, spring, and new life. A deep contrast to the turmoil the original paint war ended in.

Jack and Eric commend Asher, Zay, and Charlie for their coordination in getting in the final winning hit against Maya. She grumbles, remarking insistently that if she didn’t have traitors in her midst -- namely, Lucas -- her team would’ve reigned triumphant.

Zay: Yeah, whatever you say, Sore Loser Barbie.

Heh heh heh… Charlie smiles to himself, technicolor paint splatters standing out especially bold on his Team Asher white tee. Haley gets his attention as she lets Clarissa attempt to comb out and rebraid her hair, pointing out that if he’s part of the class again, then he’s in danger of failing. He hasn’t given a final performance yet, and he’s running out of time to make the grade.

Clarissa: Yeah. If you’re part of the A class, then shouldn’t you have to follow our traditions?

Charlie waves them off at first, but suddenly it seems like everyone remembers how much they missed picking on good ol’ Charlie Gardner, because it’s not long before everyone is poking fun at him. Come on, Charlie, you don’t want to fail, do you? Charlie Gardner, not completing an assignment? Gasp… what did Haverford do to him…

All right, all right. They really only had to needle him a little bit -- Charlie’s getting better about performing simply because it’s fun, because it brings him joy. So when he’s pushed, he cracks a smile, claiming he might be able to throw something together. You know, to save his grade…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

​​Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Treat People With Kindness” as performed by Harry Styles || Performed by Charlie Gardner (feat. AAA Seniors)

Charlie finally, finally gets his Harry Styles moment, and naturally, it has to be the one track that feels near perfectly tailored for him. Vocally, energy wise, and very much in lyrical content. He leads the way in a groove through the halls, his peers following along cheerfully behind and providing hand claps and back-up vocals.

With all of them, especially Charlie, coated in the rainbow, it really is an unbeatable spectacle.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Charlie continues into the second verse, playfully interacting with his classmates as he goes. The line “giving second chances,” is reserved for serenading Riley, who beams as they link hands and he twirls her under his arm. Then he slips from her grasp and keeps going, jamming with a few more peers until he makes it to the center of the stage, grooving on his own.

Feeling good in my skin, I just keep on dancing!

This trend continues until Charlie makes it to the softer bridge, now standing at the back of the stage. He’s looking thoughtfully up at the wall of 2 x 4s, the one with all their initials written on them to commemorate each class that passes through AAA. The class of 2021’s time is almost up, and Charlie’s initials are still there, untouched as if he never left. Like the separation, transfer, isolation never happened.

And maybe that’s because in some ways, he never left. Charlie’s soul has always been here, at Adams, part of the A class in every way that matters. He grins as he launches into the last few lines, backing away from the wall and then escalating to the end of the bridge with a flourish.

It’s okay, it’s okay, ow!

On the instrumental break, the rest of the rainbow-clad A class gets a moment to shine, cutting between shots of each of them having their own solo dance moment. Some are better than others, and some (notably, Lucas and Riley) dance with friends rather than alone.

Charlie reappears as we rock and roll towards the final chorus, getting in moments with the rest of the classmates he hadn’t bopped with yet. Then he gathers everyone back at center stage, creating a dance circle that for once in his life, he’s suddenly at the center of. That he doesn’t feel like shying away from and running into the shadows -- where he’s comfortable and free.

He tilts his head back and spins as he belts the last note, bringing it to a colorful, joyfully smashing finish.

EXT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - DAY

BLUE NGUYEN welcomes Isadora into his apartment. It’s just as messy as it was last time we saw it, which allows Isadora to enter comfortably.

Blue: To what do I owe the pleasure? 

Isadora: I’m graduating. I wanted to invite you to the ceremony.

Blue’s face lights up. He accepts the invitation right away, and holds onto the ticket Isadora pulls out of her pocket and hands to him with pride. 

Blue: I can’t believe it. You’re still, like, twelve in my mind. 

Isadora: Rude. 

Blue: Seriously though, I’m so proud of you. School’s never been easy for you, so to see you come out the other side… [ a beat; emotional ] And with all the shit you’ve had to deal with, too. You’re really strong, Isadora. I hope you know that.

Touched, Isadora tries to play it off with a joke about how weak her arms are, but it falls flat. Blue shakes his head as if ashamed, but he’s smiling. 

Blue: I’ve missed you. Are you staying in New York or moving somewhere else?

Isadora: Staying. Going to NYU.

Blue: Oh, like Beatrix! [ off her confusion ] She started at NYU last year. I thought she would’ve told you.

Isadora shakes her head. Although she cares about and looks up to Beatrix, the two of them never talked that much. After she left the foster home they met up a couple times so that Jericho and Isadora could see each other, but then they both got busy. They haven’t talked since last summer. 

Blue: You should give her a visit. I’ll text you her address later. [ a beat ] What are you studying at NYU, then? Wait, let me guess. Film?

Isadora: Ding ding. 

Blue: Congrats! You’re gonna do so great, I already know.

He ruffles her hair, an expression of affection they agreed upon years ago. Isadora grins, hoping that he’s right.

INT. YINDRA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Zay is over helping Yindra pack her stuff, though she’s got a bit more time to go through it all as she’s not leaving for another couple weeks. It’s the first time we’ve ever seen her room, and it’s perfectly fitting to her personality -- trendy, slightly untidy, pops of gold tying the aesthetic together throughout. She’s got posters of her musical inspirations on the wall and a fake gold record plaque her dad gave her for Christmas one year in middle school for something called “Yindra’s Bop.”

Crazy, how we’ve barely even scratched the surface with some of the folks we’ve spent three seasons with… so much history buried in the contours of the A class. Zay is in the process of helping her decide which outfits are worth taking to LA versus which ones should be relegated to staying in the Manhattan closet.

Zay: Do you even have a choice? Like, aren’t you moving moving?

Yindra: With my dad, yes. But my grandma will still be in Harlem, so she’s keeping a bunch of my stuff here in my room at her place.

Zay: Ah, so there’s hope I will see you again eventually and you won’t just bleed away into the LA sun.

Yindra: I’ll be back for holidays. It’s the only time I usually manage to catch my mom with all her humanitarian work, and I think my grandma would legitimately murder my dad if I didn’t.

And thank god for G-ma Yindra for that! Yindra pulls a familiar item from the closet -- the custom-made dress piece Jade made her for showdown -- and immediately plops it in the LA pile. Zay snorts.

Zay: You planning on wearing that around the streets of KTown? Guess it’ll certainly get you noticed.

Yindra: Are you kidding me? This is a one of a kind Jade Beamon original. I’m hanging this in my room like a trophy. When she gets famous and everyone from royals to rappers are begging her for designs, I’ll be able to prove I knew her when. Catch me bringing this look back in 20 years at the Grammys.

Zay shakes his head, but he’s not really in disagreement. They agree it’s a good thing Nigel got some balls and locked Jade down while he still had the chance, as there’s really no one more impressive. And they seem to be doing pretty well, all secure in their partnership going into college… though suppose it’s easier when you’re basically staying in the same place.

Yindra: How about you?

Zay: What about me?

Yindra: Planning any sweeping romances when you roll up to Turner in the fall? I know you’re not in the program yet, but there’s gotta be some dance bitch that’ll be able to keep up with you. I know how that like gets you all hot and tingly, because you’re a freak.

Zay: Wow. Thanks.

Yindra: She said with love and affection. Anyway, I’m just saying, you’ve really been off the field since Brooklyn fucked you over and that was ages ago. You’re a hot piece, Zayby. You deserve a little loving, especially after the shit year you got yourself into.

God, where to even begin… Zay hesitates, wondering if he should clue her in. He could tell her all about the dance bitch that’s already turned his life upside down, the sweeping romance that’s been keeping him thoroughly occupied in an emotional rollercoaster for the last three years. For all the effort they put into keeping it a secret, sometimes Zay still can’t believe people don’t just already know. That they can’t tell just from the way it feels to be around Charlie, so strong and all-encompassing it must be radiating off him. And the biggest aspect of the secrecy is past now, so he supposes there wouldn’t be any harm in sharing.

But he can’t do it. It doesn’t feel right, revealing it, without Charlie there too. It’s their history, their story to tell together, if they ever decide to rather than keeping it a private, personal epic between the two of them. Another thing no one else understands, but that they know and understand effortlessly.

So he shrugs and side-steps the question, turning it back on her instead. Is she planning any romances? Yindra scoffs.

Yindra: I’m not opposed to a little action here and there, but no. My focus is where it needs to be -- my career. I’m not going out to LA to just dick around and waste the next four years. I’m making moves, and everything else can stay on pause.

Zay: Respect. But also be careful, you’re sounding a little like Diva Zay.

Yindra: God forbid. Besides, how could I ever find a compelling paramour to distract me when I’ve already had the best of the best in my fleeting prom date with one Isaiah Kaleb Babineaux?

Zay can’t help but grin, shrugging cheekily. You ain’t wrong! Yindra gets up and gives him a theatrical kiss on both cheeks.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Lucas is running through the plan for Friday with GRACE FRIAR, reminding her that he’ll be going to school early to help set up the B auditorium for the ceremony. As such, Grace is going to be carpooling with the Orlandos -- Randall is planning to pick her up about an hour before.

Lucas: [ after a beat ] And dad’s not coming, right?

There’s a strange nature to the way they speak about Kenneth, this weighted, complicated paradox of tone that makes every statement feel like it’s loaded. Like Lucas is asking because he wants to confirm, because he wants to make sure he doesn’t have to deal with him unexpectedly… and yet, at the same time, a small part of him is asking for a different reason. This relentless, involuntary piece of himself that still wants him to show up, as if even after nineteen years of hell, things could still change.

Grace, gently: I don’t think he was planning on it, no. [ a beat ] And now I’m sure, because he’s busy anyway. He has an appointment.

Something about that itches at Lucas. He frowns.

Lucas: Like… another doctor’s appointment?

Grace: I don’t know. He didn’t tell me anything.

Lucas: Why is he -- since when does he care about -- [ in a huff ] Why is it he suddenly has all these leisurely “appointments” when I haven’t had an annual physical since I was like, nine?

Grace: I don’t know.

Lucas: Does he just all the sudden go hard for healthy living, or something, like some kinda sick joke --

Grace, pointedly: Lucas.

She softly cuts him off, giving him a look. Disrupting his tirade before it has the chance to bubble into rage.

It’s not worth it. He’s not worth the anger.

Grace: I don’t know. But don’t waste time on it. Focus on all the stuff coming up, graduation and what comes next.

It’s clear she really, really wants him to keep moving forward. Stay focused on what lies ahead… regardless of what she might suspect is going on with Kenneth. She’s so close to getting Lucas out of there for good, finally setting him free…

Lucas sighs, trying to accept that she’s right. He’s made it this far not bothering to give a shit about what his dad does rather than spend time with him -- best not to give him the power to derail all his progress by starting now.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Dylan and Riley are sleeping over, supposedly helping Isadora pack for the move to the new apartment. But they’re mainly just hanging out instead, vegging out on junk food and gossiping while Isadora haphazardly tosses things into boxes now and then. Riley is in the process of painting Dylan’s nails, alternating red and black both to honor AAA and his Bad Blood video.

They’re also discussing graduation, chatting about who is attending for each of them. Dylan’s just got his dad and brother rolling up, but his mom’s parents are going to travel down for the weekend to be there for his graduation party and spend some time in the city. He also asked Jack if Mr. Puff could come to the ceremony, but he was unfortunately denied.

Isadora: Damn. Prejudice.

Dylan: I know. Jack is so lucky my senioritis has kicked in and I don’t have another full-blown protest in me.

When they ask Isadora, she admits that originally she didn’t have anyone to give her tickets to. But she’s trying to redefine her understanding of who qualifies, in her weird mixed-up brain, so she’s started finding a couple people to invite. Blue already agreed, which Dylan claims is wicked because Blue is a badass. Riley adds her two cents.

Riley: My mom and Auggie are coming, and obviously my dad is going to be there, but they’ll be sitting in opposite parts of the auditorium. Which, honestly, is more than okay with me. My uncle Josh was going to fly in from LA, but something came up for work.

Dylan: Boo. Dying to meet the fabled cool uncle Joshua.

Riley: Someday. And when you do, don’t call him Joshua. He hates his full name, thinks it sounds too prick-ish.

Dylan: See? So damn cool.

Isadora: Do you think he’d be willing to meet up with Farkle? Or Yindra? It might be nice for them to have a contact out there.

Riley: [ with a nod ] I actually already talked to him about that. He seems open to it, but it’ll probably depend on if they decide to reach out to him or not. There’s kind of a weird hierarchy in the industry, people only want to meet with fresh blood that seems bold enough to actually request the meeting. Anyway, I told Farkle to hit him up, but we’ll see if he actually does.

So wild, that Farkle is gonna be out there in the same sunny town. Isadora gets lost in that reality again, some of her easygoing mood dwindling, only tuning back into the conversation when Dylan addresses her.

Dylan: How are you feeling about long distance?

Isadora blinks at him, eyes wide. With Farkle? She swallows, bewildered and weirdly anxious.

Isadora: Huh?

Dylan: You and Chai. I mean, she’s going all the way to London, right? That’s basically the same as California, just the opposite direction.

Riley: And with an ocean in the way.

Oh, right. Isadora laughs at herself, not sure where that weird assumption and panic even came from. She shrugs, going back to putting some stuff in boxes.

Isadora: Bizarre as it is, I feel pretty good about it. I’m trying to focus on the good things about it, what I’m excited for, rather than all the things that could go wrong.

Riley beams, noting how far she’s come in that regard. And they’ll all be flexing that muscle in some capacity -- Riley’s also got a long distance situation, and while Dylan might be joining Asher upstate in a few months time, they won’t be at the same school. They won’t be the way they’ve all been enjoying for the last four years, constantly in each other’s lives every second of every day. It’s time to test if those threads tying them together are made of floss or forged in steel.

Somehow, all of them are feeling pretty damn good about their prospects. As the song on Riley’s pop playlist transitions from 1989...

​​Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Amazing” as performed by Foxes || Performed by Riley Matthews, Isadora De La Cruz, & Dylan Orlando

It doesn’t take long for the fun-loving, energetic duo of Riley and Dylan to fall into singing and dancing along with the optimistic pop track, managing to pull Isadora into it by the second verse. She’s focusing on the good, sharing this moment with her silly, wonderful best friends -- so she can let herself be a little silly too.

And so the performance unfolds, the three of them serenading each other and dancing around the room in classic, enviable sleepover style antics. Isadora takes the slower, more thoughtful lyrics on the bridge, remarking on how even though her instincts are to run and hide, she feels excited and grounded enough in the amazing things about Chai, about how things are, it makes her unafraid.

Then Riley and Dylan join her, obviously in agreement, the three of them climbing onto the bed and jumping together as they dance through the remainder of the number. When it comes to a close, Dylan pulls them into a bear hug and they all collapse into the pillows, Riley cracking up and Isadora faux-protesting in pain.

INT. HART APARTMENT - NIGHT

Maya is having a late night video call with GABI CORTEZ, getting her big sib advice on any last-minute graduation tips she has and eagerly discussing Maya’s college plans. Gabi is super happy for her that she got into her dream school -- she’s sure she’ll kill in the Tisch program.

Maya: Oh, you know it. I’m so ready to jump in there and just start chewing up the scenery. I’ve already got a whole list of performance ideas to kick things off, get some momentum going for myself.

Gabi: [ with a laugh ] Well, don’t get too amped up. It’s going to be a minute before you really start digging into that.

Maya: … what do you mean? I’m in the performing program.

Gabi: Yeah, but that’s not how a college curriculum plays it. They like to take it slow, stick you through a couple years of theory and theater history and general education credits before you actually get to start focusing on performing. Not entirely, of course, but don’t expect it to be like Adams 2.0.

Gotta squeeze four years of tuition out of them somehow! Maya frowns, not pleased with that assessment. Slow burning isn’t exactly her speed… Gabi assures her she’ll love it, though, and hey, what does she know? She only stuck out the program a year before she transferred to pediatrics. She’s sure Maya will fare better, since performing is truly her burning passion.

Yes… yes, it sure is. More than theory and history, that’s for sure. Maya continues to ruminate on that as Gabi changes the subject, the conversation moving past it.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

On our final day of Senior Week, it’s Riley’s turn to pull the final slip from the Counselor mug. More of a symbolic gesture than anything else, given there’s only one left to choose, but she still does it with charming enthusiasm.

Thursday.

She smiles when she reads the word on the paper, even though she has no idea what it means.

Riley, cheerfully: “Cheers.”

Harper takes the slip from Riley and gestures for her to take her seat again. She gives a little curtsy as she goes when Dylan starts up a cheeky round of applause for her excellent reading -- what a darling little elocutionist she is! The desks have been rearranged so that they’re all sitting in a circle, as if they’re about to participate in a socratic seminar.

With that same bowl of names they used for the paint battle, Harper steps into the center of the circle and approaches each student one by one, instructing them to pull a name. They may look at it, but they shouldn’t show it to anyone else. As she goes, she explains the activity.

Harper: We’ve had a lot of highs and lows in this class, but I think all of us can agree that there’s something to admire about each of us. Every one of you brings a unique something to the table, makes this class what it is, completely irreplaceable and inimitable. So today, we’ll be honoring that, by doing a little game of “Cheers.”

The conceit is simple. Once they’ve chosen who will go first, that person will stand and compliment the peer whose name is on their slip. They may say anything they wish, but obviously, let’s keep it positive.

Nate: If you have me and you don’t say I’m the baddest bitch there is, don’t bother to say anything at all.

The rest of the game progresses from there, the person who has the name of whoever last spoke then standing and complimenting them in turn. They cycle through until the loop is complete.

Riley is the last to draw a name, the bowl now empty. Harper confirms that they all understand the rules -- Dave doesn’t, but Yogi assures her he’ll figure it out as they go -- and with that, they’re all set to go. Harper spins lightly and lands on someone to start.

Harper: Mister Garcia. As the reigning victor from yesterday’s paint war, why don’t you start us off?

Asher raises his eyebrows coyly, rising to his feet as Harper vacates the circle and goes to sit with Shawn and Eric at her desk. The floor belongs to the A class now. Asher clears his throat, scanning the room to hold out suspense… then lands on Zay.

Asher: Zay Babineaux.

Zay: Oh, great.

Asher: I could go with the obvious, like that you’re a talented dancer or that you have good taste, but I feel like that’s too easy -- not to mention your ego is big enough already. You’re just better about hiding it.

Yindra: So true, king.

Asher: But those weren’t the first things to come to mind anyway. [ a beat ] Something I’ve always admired about you is that even for all your confidence, you’re kind. You let a new girl sit with you on her first day without questioning what it’ll do for you; you do a favor for a guy you’re barely friends with and let his boyfriend come see your real bona fide Off-Broadway set, just because it’s a nice thing to do. Your talent never eclipses your humanity, and you have a way of making people feel comfortable to be around you -- like they can be themselves.

Wow… starting off real right from the get go. The class nods along, obviously in agreement; Charlie smiles from his seat next to Riley, knowing just how true Asher’s words are.

Asher: That’s a gift much rarer than killer dance moves or strong vocal runs. Makes me hope that for any confidence I might gain, I’ll be able to say the same for myself. [ awkwardly ] Okay, that’s it.

And well said it was! The class gives a little clap and snap to second him, Zay smiling and giving him a wink of thanks that’s about as vulnerable as a couple of petty gays can get.

As the exercise progresses, the A class loosens up, getting more into the rhythm of it and finding it easier and easier to be authentic and sentimental. Clarissa goes next, complimenting Asher’s impeccable sense of style and life-saving organizational skills that allowed them to have flawless production design and a functioning student government. Darby compliments Clarissa, emphasizing how sweet she’s always been and that she’s super envious of her ability to play multiple instruments. Like, seriously, how does her brain do that?

Nate’s up next, Darby cringing in dread when she sees he’s the one who has her name. But he subverts expectations and isn’t an asshole, genuinely hyping her up with his usual amount of bravado as the class laughs along.

Nate: Not only does this girl have serious height that makes me insecure because all she needs is a pair of kitten heels to be the same height as me and I take my tallness very seriously --

Yogi: Tall Girl realness.

Nate: But have you all seen her killer serve? Winters, you are a volleyball goddess. I worship at your feet. We would not have stood a chance against Quincy without you, and Texas better get ready for all the heat you’re about to bring. Amen.

Now who could possibly follow that… Nate plops back down into his seat and waits expectantly, ready for a compliment. For a long moment, no one moves… did the chain break?

But no, we were just pausing for dramatic effect. Maya rises to her feet, the class preemptively bursting into laughter and Nate tilting his head back dramatically.

Nate: Oh, of course!

Maya: Now, now, down bulldog. I surprisingly do have good things to say.

And say them she does. Maya genuinely articulates a bewildering admiration for Nate, his brash demeanor and unapologetic personality. What you see is what you get with Nathaniel Dean Martinez, and she respects that. Not to mention he’s got just as much cutthroat competitive edge as she does, and she thinks this class seriously could’ve used more of that spirit.

Nigel: More of that? It would’ve been a bloodbath.

Case in point, Nate is legit, and Maya will always admire that in spite of all his obnoxious qualities. Takes one to know one, after all. And yes, last but not least…

Maya: … he is an asexual baddie.

Nate: That’s right! Thank you!

Now, who has the unique privilege of complimenting Maya Hart… Lucas sighs and rises, the class reacting in turn and snickering. The way this potential exchange would’ve been downright unthinkable even just a year ago… but Maya doesn’t assume the worst, holding Lucas’s eye contact without hesitation and quirking an eyebrow.

Lucas: A lot of people asked me why the hell I chose you as my VP. To their surprise, it was never a challenge to defend that decision. You give every goal one-hundred percent, and you don’t let anything get in the way of what you want. You’re the most damningly persistent person I’ve ever met, and I know much of what we accomplished as a class this year would not have been possible without you.

Pretty sentimental, coming from Lucas. Maya smiles, nodding sagely. Granting him the return gesture of allowing the moment to pass without comment, without gloating or bragging or twisting his arm. In some ways, that’s the most respectful thing she’s ever done for him.

Once Lucas lowers back into his seat, it doesn’t take long for Charlie to get to his feet. The two of them exchange a look, Charlie taking a dedicated moment to consider what he wants to say. There’s so much he could say, honestly, whether reflecting on the way he used to view Lucas or about the strange, almost serendipitous friendship they’ve developed just in the last couple months. Lots of words could be said, but neither of them are particularly good at using them.

Charlie: I’ll keep this brief, because I know this is probably your idea of a bad time.

Not untrue. Lucas shifts in his seat, trying to remain nonchalant but yes, admittedly, slightly uncomfortable with the sheer concept of this game. The fact that they’re even holding eye contact is an impressive feat.

Charlie: You’ve got a way of making people respect you. Even without trying -- even when people think they don’t. Your presence is undeniable, and it has a spirit to it that is contagious. A… courage, that makes other people want to be courageous too. [ a beat ] Usually without meaning to, which in some ways, is all the more inspiring.

Asher and Dylan nod along, in total agreement. Lucas’s cheeks flush, bashful, but he manages to nod a thank you. It’s obvious he’s glad Charlie didn’t draw the compliment out much more than that, appreciated as it was.

Haley is up next, easily able to praise Charlie for what a good friend he is.

Haley: I seriously have never met someone more compassionate and considerate. I mean, he literally knew I had an embarrassingly obvious crush on him for three whole years [ off the class laughter ] and he never let that impact our friendship or how he treated me. He makes the best dance tutor, because he really genuinely wants to help. There’s something about you, Charlie, that just… is kindness. It’s my favorite thing about you. I hope I always get to keep a little bit of it in my life.

She blows him a kiss, to which he beams in response. Jeff proceeds to talk about Haley next, commending her versatility as an underrated triple threat since she sings, dances, and acts. Not to mention she plays the cello, so she really is the full package. Sometimes in having so many different interests, it can feel like you don’t have a path at all, but he’s confident she’ll figure out whatever she needs to while she’s exploring and finding herself at JMU.

Nigel gets to compliment Jeff, thanking him on behalf of the whole class for his level-headed technical approach and for literally keeping the lights on the last four years. Not to mention he has the sickest dance moves he’s ever seen, and yes, he’s including being best friends with Zay in that assessment. He knows Yindra would also want him to mention that he is, without a doubt, “hubby material.”

Yindra: [ snapping along ] Mm. Yes. Say that again!

The class cracks up, Jeff nodding a thank you and winking a kiss towards Yindra. She pretends to catch it, holding it close to her heart.

Chai is one with Nigel’s name, emphatically complimenting his incredible acting skills and admitting that every time they did scene work, she would cross her fingers to be paired with him because he was unequivocally the ideal scene partner. She greatly admires his attention to detail, the way he elevates text off the page not only through authentic acting but also a deep, careful metatextual analysis of what the script is trying to say. In a class, town, industry that is so go, go, go, she’s always admired that Nigel takes the time to smell the roses and really think about the work he creates.

Chai: Oh, and you wear a turtleneck better than anybody. Just saying.

So true, bestie! Jade pinches his cheek affectionately, which he playfully swats away.

Sarah admits that she’s always been a bit jealous of Chai when it’s her turn, because she seeks opportunities out so confidently and never lets herself be second best. She knows her own value, advocates for herself, and somehow managed to get everyone to like her again even though she fucked up royally. She has a poise, a resiliency, that Sarah thinks is remarkable. Isadora smiles while Sarah talks, for once agreeing with every word she says.

Who could possibly say something good about Sarah when all her best friends have already spoken… Dave gets to his feet, clearing his throat.

Sarah: Perfect...

He double checks his slip to make sure he’s got it right -- he does -- then he opens his mouth, speaking in earnest.

Dave: I think it’s really cool how you care a lot. About lots of things. Some people think you’re mean, or that you like to like, tear other people down. But I never thought about it that way. I think you’re honest, like Farkle, and vocal like Dora. You say what you think, which is impressive, because I don’t even know what I’m thinking half the time well enough to say it. Sometimes I think you get snappy because you care too much, like you feel like if you don’t then you’ll be someone different, someone people don’t expect. You care a lot about what others think of you, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. But I think that the people who like you already won’t mind if you turn down the mean, even if it means you’re changing -- change can be good sometimes. If it makes you happier, I think they would like you even better for it. But I hope, either way, that you would never stop caring.

… okay, well holy shit. The class gapes, jaws dropped, at that honest, sincere, and kind of beautiful read Dave Williams just gave of one of their most prickly peers. Sarah stares at him, dumbstruck, tearing up.

Sarah: Okay, like, what the fuck?

The class laughs and then bursts into applause, Dave crossing the circle and opening his arms. Amazingly, Sarah accepts the hug, getting to her feet and letting Dave give her a quick embrace to cement the good sentiments. Then she brushes off the emotion, dabbing at her mascara as they settle back down into their seats.

Dylan hops up next, pointing indicatively at Dave.

Dylan: I mean, what could I possibly say that could top what that bizarrely beautiful moment just conveyed?

Honestly so true, but still, Dylan tries his best. He passionately asserts what a unique, one of a kind, force of nature Dave Williams is, the brightest beacon of their class and a constant ray of hope even in the darkest moments. He’s insightful, and supportive, and can lift up anything and anyone in a moment they need it most -- literally, since he can lift over two-hundred pounds. He’s their Ice-T hook up, their croc DL and tarantula-loving king, and if they ever need a bagpipe player, they miraculously know who they gonna call. Think it goes without debate, but everyone in that room is blessed to know the effervescent enigma that is Davis Blitz Williams.

And boy, could the same be said for Dylan Orlando… Isadora is given the challenge of trying to put it into words, Dylan grinning when he sees her get to her feet with his name slip in her hand. She clears her throat, twisting the paper in her fingers.

Isadora: Um, most of you already know I’m not great with articulating myself. Usually, it just comes off like, demanding yelling, and that doesn’t pair well with this particular game. But I guess it kind of makes sense, some kind of weird irony, that I’d be forced to try to properly talk about the wisest, most well-spoken person I know.

Dylan’s expression softens. She’s not going for the obvious -- she’s speaking from the heart, going for something authentic and real.

Isadora: I consider myself pretty smart, some might say a genius, but I know in actuality I’m not even close. I can’t be, when I’m so different from Dylan, and he’s without a shadow of the doubt the smartest person I know. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through the last four years without you -- you have a unique sort of intelligence I sorely lack, that this place desperately needed. You just get emotions, and people, and you know how to bring them together. You share it so selflessly, all the time -- it never ceases to amaze me how happily you give away so much of yourself, just because it makes the rest of us happy. Because it makes you happy. You’re delightfully weird, boldly yourself, and I love it. It makes me want to be more myself, too, and not care what anybody thinks in response.

Dylan’s still smiling, but it’s tempered now, weighted with something more emotional. He obviously wasn’t expecting such a sincere compliment, one that really highlights the best things about him and doesn’t gloss over his eccentricity. And he’s realizing, more and more, how much that acceptance means to him.

Isadora: Anyway, I probably could’ve said that better, but it’s true. I know everyone in this room knows it’s true, too, even if they wouldn’t admit it. So, yeah.

Well said, well said! Asher elbows Isadora when she sits down, obviously in agreement with everything. A moment passes, and then Farkle gets to his feet, Isadora’s smile faltering. She has no idea what he could possibly say… and they’re best friends, so certainly he’ll have something nice to say, but in some ways that makes her even more nervous.

Farkle: It’s no secret that you and I used to hate each other. Like, deep abhorrence. I know I gave you plenty of reasons for your derision, and to me, you were just a bossy, know-it-all emo antisocial weirdo. One who got a real kick out of telling me what I was doing wrong -- and well, I had to get used to that pretty fast, huh?

Maya: Only out of love. [ a beat ] Well. Now.

Farkle: All that to say, as someone who doesn’t like being wrong… I’m glad I was so, so wrong about you, Isadora.

Chai smiles, appreciating the sentiment. Knowing it all too well, obviously agreeing. Isadora holds Farkle’s gaze, unable to look away.

Farkle: I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re still all those things I said. Bossy. A know-it-all. An emotional wreck -- I don’t think you’re kidding anyone otherwise, especially yourself. But you’re so much more than that, and I’ve gotten to discover all of it as we got closer and became friends. You’re passionate, and determined, and insightful even for all the ways you think you’re a failure at emotions. You were one of the first people to reach out to me when I was slipping -- you sensed that even when few other people did. Most of all, you’re resilient, the toughest person I know. Most people have dealt with far less than you have in your eighteen years and crumpled way faster, but you’re still going. That, I think, is the most admirable trait there is. To keep going. [ a beat ] You gave me a chance, to be someone better than I was, and I’m glad I gave you that chance, too. And now I can’t imagine this school, my life, without you.

Wow… talk about Farkle’s brand of honesty. He smiles and falls back into his seat, the sentiments still rattling around in Isadora’s head. She’s still looking at him, stricken, only snapping out of it when Chai elbows her playfully. She manages a smile, returning the bump.

Yogi steps up to take the unique experience of trying to encapsulate Farkle Minkus, following on his train of thought to comment on his persistence and resilience. He’s gone through more in the last few years than anyone Yogi knows, and he’s always been impressed by his strong personality and commitment to his dreams. Seriously, he knows most people found it obnoxious, but he mostly just found Farkle’s eccentricities and less-than-flattering moments hilarious. And he respects how much effort he’s put into improving himself and changing for the better -- it’s noticeable, and he commends all that hard work.

Then Jade gets up to compliment Yogi, thanking him for being one of the only performers early on who always got and respected what she and the techies did. He really is an honorary tech, an honor he shouldn’t take lightly. And she admires how he’s not only a multitalented professional, between A/V club and performing, but that he’s such a great friend. She knows how much Dave loves him -- she’s heard plenty about it in the last four years -- and even just working together in class she knows it’s all 100% true.

Yogi: Damn, Jade, I’m gonna cry. A needle to the eye would’ve been more efficient.

Jade laughs, settling back into her seat… just as Yindra rises to take up the mantle.

Nigel: Oh boy.

Yindra: Now I… I got the best freaking name in the bowl. The most legendary person in this class. The pinnacle of Adams Academy Senior A Class of 2021! Jade Beamon, you are the most badass bitch this town has ever seen. So many of us underestimated you for so long, even when you were making a ridiculous amount of costumes a week, and I apologize for the fact that most of us discovered your excellence far later than we should have. I’m not gonna act like I can top Nigel’s lovesick monologue at showdown to encompass just how amazing you are --

Nigel: Okay, we don’t need to…

Yindra: But I’ll just say this. You are the person I am sure, without a doubt in my mind, is going to make it big in this class. And that’s not a dig at anyone else -- right, team?

A Class: Aye, aye.

Jade laughs bashfully, pushing some hair behind her ear.

Yindra: Can’t make up for the lack of respect from the last four years, but the least I can do is say it now. You are iconic, you are a visionary. You are the moment -- and if Nigel didn’t already snatch you up, I would be asking for your hand in marriage. Feel free to consider the offer, and we’ll chat later.

Nigel rolls his eyes, Jade giving him a playful smile. Better watch out! Riley is practically buzzing to jump up when it’s her turn, eagerly and sincerely singing Yindra’s praises. She has always greatly admired her immeasurable talent, her poise and charm, and also -- it must be said -- she is absolutely gorgeous. She might have had a tiny crush on her in sophomore year.

Yindra: Girl, where was this info then? Missed my chance, it’d be a “Y” around your neck right now if I’d had a fair chance!

The class laughs, Lucas rolling his eyes with a smirk. Riley giggles and gets back on track, explaining that the thing she likes most about Yindra, though, is her warmth. She kind of exudes a friendly magnetism, bright like the LA sunshine she’s about to rival, and she greatly appreciated the way she treated her so kindly and extended her moments of friendship throughout her first year at Adams. And that courtesy has never wavered, even as they’ve roamed in adjacent social circles.

Yindra touches her chest over her heart, then waves her off, getting to her feet.

Yindra: No, okay, you’re giving me a hug. You owe it to alternate universe me where we’re girlfriends. Come on.

Riley cracks up, welcoming the embrace. Yindra is truly Miss Steal Your Girl out here! Once the two of them settle back into their seats, there’s a thoughtful pause as everyone tries to account for who is left. The cycle is almost done… and Zay rises to his feet to complete it, exchanging a knowing smile with Riley.

It’s hard to know where to start with her, honestly, but Zay claims he’ll try his best. He touches on the obvious points -- her compassion, her skill, her strangely endearing nosiness. She has a heart bigger than this whole school, and he’s never met anyone with so much inherent kindness and forgiveness. In fact, if he’s being honest, he thinks she’s rubbed off on him much more than she realizes.

Zay: And honestly, I’d say that’s true for all of us. For this class. Things were screwy when you showed up, and we didn’t exactly make much of an effort to fix them until you got your meddler’s toolbox out and started doing repairs. You have a natural empathy that makes you unbeatable at that, at looking at the bigger picture and seeing just where we need to come together so that we don’t all fall apart. You did it sophomore year; you did it with showdown. You’ve done it a million times in so many smaller ways, and I’m sure every person in here has a Riley story that could vouch for that.

The class nods along, confirming. Riley looks around at all of them, smiling shyly, eyes glossing over. She clears her throat, willing herself not to cry. Zay beams, genuine in his fond appraisal of just how important she really is.

Zay: Talent is a dime a dozen in this school -- much as we don’t want to admit it, for the sake of our egos, all of us are pretty damn good. But you’re a cut above the rest, Riley, because you’re not just talented. You’re the full package: compassionate, clever, a natural leader. All of that just makes your capability and passion shine even brighter when you get up there and perform -- which I knew NYU would see eventually. They’d have to be blind not to. And I know you’re still figuring things out, but when you come to the right decision, which I fully believe you will, I think everyone else at Tisch is quickly going to learn it too.

Dylan whoops in agreement, and the entire class breaks into applause, echoing the sentiments. They all know how pivotal Riley has been in cementing their class -- none of them would dare act like it isn’t true. And Riley seems truly touched by the praise, bashful as she is…

But there’s the slightest twitch in her expression that undercuts the moment. It goes unnoticed, but it’s obvious Riley isn’t sure how to feel about the notion that she might shine even brighter at Tisch when she hasn’t even decided for sure that that’s where she’s meant to be. Even as everyone else -- especially the people she thinks know her better than anybody -- seems to have figured it out for her.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Shawn comes by the office as Jack is just closing up the last couple of boxes, whistling when he sees how empty it is. Almost feels wrong… no, it does feel wrong…

Jack: Give it time. You’ll be basking in my absence before you know it.

Shawn: No, I won’t.

Oh… well, that’s kind of a nice, sincere brotherly thing to say. Jack manages a smile. Shawn clears his throat and claims he’s just playing messenger, as he’s been requested to summon him to the auditorium.

Jack is intrigued, but he takes a moment to put one last thing in his box -- his old principal’s office plaque with his name on it, now his to take with him wherever he goes next. He places it delicately on top of the remaining open box and follows his half-brother out.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

When Jack arrives, Eric is waiting for him in the front and center section. Maya is standing on stage, along with Farkle, Zay, and Charlie. Jack cautiously joins Eric in the seats.

Jack: What’s going on?

Farkle: It was brought to our attention via a very eloquently written resignation letter that we are not the only people leaving Adams this year.

Maya: And to be perfectly honest, if you told us that three years ago, many of us probably would’ve been thrilled. Or at least, indifferent.

Zay: Finally, no more stuck up administrators telling us not to groove in the hallways.

Eric: As if that ever worked.

Farkle: But things are different now. Perspectives change.

Charlie: People change.

Zay: And now, such a resignation letter doesn’t feel at all like a victory.

They let that sink in for a moment, Jack offering a bittersweet smile. It’s not that they’re trying to stop him, to convince him otherwise, but all of them can acknowledge that they have a much stronger appreciation for their hardworking, straight-edged principal than they did as freshmen. He was what they needed, rather than what they wanted, and now they don’t think it’s possible to imagine Adams Academy without him.

Maya: Also many moons ago, I was mad at one particular administrator because he sided with a few student complaints that it might be ill-advised to perform The Lion King with our only moderately diverse student body -- especially due to the harmless, ingenious suggestion from a young visionary that their smallest actor play Young Simba because he was already the right size for the part.

Zay: You were deranged for that.

Maya: I prefer efficient and logical. Anyway, there was one number that the ensemble basically finished putting together before that little production got put on indefinite pause.

Charlie: It was the first number Zay and I got to choreograph as freshmen, so we were a bit bummed when it got axed.

Zay: A bit is putting it lightly, though I was willing to avoid the ultimate greater atrocities we might have committed with Maya’s “efficient and logical” vision.

Maya: On its own, though, the number stands alone powerfully enough, and it felt like the perfect time to bring it back.

Farkle: We can’t really do much to make up for the chaos we all caused in the last four years, the stress we put on you or the thanks we never gave for all the work you did that we didn’t see or understand.

Maya: But we can at least give you this -- evidence of what you helped foster, the students you let thrive, the proof that under the right guidance, care, and leadership, even the most unpolished seeds can grow into something remarkable.

Zay: When we worked on this number freshman year, I don’t think we really got what it was about. Now we do.

Charlie: And if we can’t offer anything else, it feels like the best way we know to articulate everything we need to say to you. Principal Hunter.

For as long as he remains… Jack smiles, already emotional, and nods for them to go on. The four of them exit the stage as the ethereal, naturalistic orchestration floats in…

​​Song Cue ♫ ♪ “He Lives In You (Reprise)” as performed by The Lion King Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Harper Burgess, Angela Moore, & AAA Seniors

For the first half of the showstopping Lion King number, we keep things muted and poignant, similar to the energy of the original rendition. The A class takes a back seat and lets their teachers, Harper and ANGELA MOORE, take the lead vocals, symbolically leading them as they harmonize and echo from formation behind them. It’s Angela and Harper’s chance to thank Jack, too -- for giving them a chance, the opportunity to lead, a place to make a real difference.

Two and a half minutes in, it seems like things are winding down, Harper and Angela leading the class in a slow exodus off the stage and back into the wings as their vocals grow softer and softer. A beautiful showing, definitely, but surprisingly understated for the A class’s usual flair… and something as important as this moment. It’s almost a wonder what exactly Zay and Charlie had to choreograph, since there wasn’t much movement aside from swaying and a few synchronized movements.

But then the music picks up again, revving up for the big finale. The lights brighten on the stage as Dylan breaks the fugue first, running back on stage and launching into a round off and front flip. Zay crosses next with some Calypso jumps, followed by Charlie doing his coveted center split jump. Then Jeff break dances to the center as the rest of the A class floods the stage, helping lift him back up so they’re all in formation when the lyrics resume and we really make this send off feel epic.

He lives in you!

And then we’ve got the A class at their best, loose and energized yet seamlessly in sync. Yindra handles the vocal runs in the ensemble, each of them hitting the choreography impressively sharp even after three years and a bit of a refresher. And it’s clear that Zay and Charlie polished it up, refined their ideas, the touches of their personal dance style shining through even for all the ways it’s a product of the two of them.

And they get a bit of focus themselves, taking the Simba solo lines that stand apart from the ensemble’s harmonies and sharing them with each other. They get to be focal for a good portion of the finale here, and it’s rightfully so, giving them their due credit for being the dance visionaries for so much of the A class’s time at Adams.

It’s a strong, strong performance, emotional and dynamic and passionate, and it has a profound impact on Jack. They’ve finally cracked him, tears slipping down his cheeks even though his smile is unbelievably proud and damningly bright. Whatever they wanted to tell him through this final send-off, he got the message loud and clear.

The A class gathers together and marches forward for the final notes, arriving at the front of the stage with gusto and stomping their feet down to bring it to a resounding finish.

In your reflection, he lives in you!

Break 2.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Lucas is alone in the booth, gathering the last of his things. He leaves the show binders on the shelf with the others from years past, roadmaps for the future stage managers of tomorrow; he retrieves his stale Oreos from the drawer and stuffs them into his backpack.

And then that’s that. Nothing more to do. Lucas pauses, rotating and taking it all in… then he grabs a slip of paper from the lighting board, taping it up on the wall next to the shelf.

It’s similar to the prop loft instructions Asher made, though far less professional and way more cheeky. It’s written in Lucas’s blocky handwriting and littered with his signature kind of doodles, the title big and bold and hard to miss.

“Student Technician Survival Guide: How to Endure 4 Years of Performing F-ckery and AAA Headaches.”

He slaps it to make sure it’s secure, smirking at his handiwork. Talk about leaving behind something worthwhile. It’s pasted right next to the photo of the techie crew of 2017 - 2021, too, all eight of them goofing off and grinning in the picture they took freshman year and then added unceremoniously to the collage of other technician photographs over the many years.

Lucas backs away and lightly spins his chair as he goes, descending the steps for the last time. The lights flick off, the booth going dark as he shuts the door.

INT. AAA - PROP LOFT - DAY

Asher makes one last adjustment to the breakable props on the center shelf, holding his breath as he slowly backs away… then he calls it, raising his hands in surrender. That’s it. He’s done all he can. It’s perfect, ready for the next generation of student prop masters.

Jade, Nigel, and Dylan are up there with him, watching his ritualistic nitpicking in amusement. Jade breaks the reverent silence.

Jade: You know this is gonna last about three seconds when school starts up again.

Shh, Jade! Let him live in delusion! Asher huffs and claims he won’t be hearing her negativity, encouraging Dylan to usher him out of there before he really can’t bring himself to let go. Nigel pats his shoulder as he passes, the four of them heading out to go have that celebratory dinner Nigel apparently owes the twinks.

Dylan: So nice of you to pay, Nigel. I feel like I’m really being treated tonight.

Nigel: … okay, hold on, wait a minute --

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

Isadora is wandering alone, taking a second to herself. She makes her way through the cafeteria, expression reminiscent. So many memories, good and bad, vying for dominance in her mind -- the echoes of a bloody cafeteria fight after a cruel slur; the foundation of new friendship with a poppy, sultry dance party; too many conversations to count. Some important, some not, but all critical to having gotten where she is now.

Air. She could use some fresh air. She takes a shaky breath and pushes towards the doors…

INT. AAA - LUNCH COURTYARD - DAY

And into the courtyard, inhaling a deep breath. This is where she truly spent most of her meals, whether with the techie crew or Maya and Farkle at their usual table. She’s come out here to escape plenty of times, to get that breath of fresh air and recenter her thoughts.

It’s a bit harder to do that at the moment. She leans forward against her usual table and shuts her eyes, trying to calm her breathing. She clenches her hands into fists and digs her nails into her palms. Don’t panic. Stay present. Stay present.

Be present. The future isn’t here yet. Focus on right now.

That seems to work, pulling Isadora back from panic’s edge. She exhales, shaking her head, shaking off the terror. Her hands are shaking when she unclenches them, but she can feel the anxiety starting to recede. She’s not as easy to knock down as she used to be. And she’s got better things to focus on right now -- friends waiting for her. Places to be. Moments to cherish while they’re happening rather than worrying about when they’ll disappear.

Still, a little more time to catch her breath might be nice. She settles down onto the bench at her table and closes her eyes, breathing in the late May air.

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Zay is in the usual studio, sitting on the floor he’s walked probably hundreds of times. He’s facing the window, with that unmatched view of the city no other studio in the school can boast, experiencing it one last time.

But he’s facing away from the door, so he doesn’t see Charlie when he enters to do the exact same thing. Charlie smiles when he sees him already there, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. For a few moments, he doesn’t announce his presence, simply watching Zay watch the world from the lens they used to share.

Charlie: Figures you’d be here.

Zay jumps lightly, but only because the sound wasn’t expected. Not because Charlie’s there -- in some part of him, he knew he would be eventually. He looks at him over his shoulder.

Zay: That predictable?

Charlie: No. Because I believe in God, and I know he loves a sick motif.

Zay: So you’re here to test your faith?

Charlie shrugs, sauntering into the studio. Zay climbs to his feet, the two of them orbiting around each other as Charlie takes in the space.

Charlie: Would’ve felt wrong not to. Say goodbye. [ glancing at him ] Didn’t get the chance to do it properly. Before.

Mm… yeah… Zay comments it’s only right, considering this week is all about honoring shit or whatever. He knows he owes this studio his life -- it’s probably the only place he could go to in this hell building that always felt like a sanctuary. He can’t even fathom the amount of hours of his young life he must’ve wasted in here.

Charlie: I wouldn’t call them wasted.

Zay: … no. Me neither.

The space between them has lessened somewhat, Charlie meandering over to join him at the center of the room. Where they’ve stood together so many times, natural as breathing to occupy this space together even for all the time apart. In this room, in their studio, the outside world never mattered much.

Charlie: Definitely deserves the exaltation. [ stuffing his hands in his pockets ] Almost feels like it deserves a dance to honor it. For old times’ sake.

It’s not clear if he’s being serious or not. The light smirk on his face indicates he’s probably just shooting the breeze… but then, maybe that’s just a side effect of being with Zay.

Zay contemplates the suggestion as if he means it regardless, running through the possibilities in his mind. To be with Charlie again, to dance together in this space, close in a way they haven’t been in so long even in spite of all the other boundaries they’ve broken under the guise of temporary surrender...

But he knows better. They both do. It’s never just a dance with them. Being whatever they are now, running out the clock until Charlie leaves, is already hard enough. So he finds a way to save them both, shrugging noncommittally and acting unbothered.

Zay: Eh. Might be sweet, but I’m not that desperate. So.

Charlie: [ with a laugh ] That much of a sacrifice, huh?

Zay: Well, you know. Last thing I need is for God to decide he likes a different kind of motif and smite us so I fuck up my other leg. Kinda seems like his sense of humor. Not worth the risk.

Ha ha… Zay is very good at playing aloof, and it’s almost convincing. Charlie knows he’s right, too, doing them both a favor before they complicate things further than they already are.

Even so, some things you just can’t resist. When Zay turns away, Charlie steps forward and reaches to take his hand, spinning him towards him in a bold move that transforms into a few steps of choreography near effortlessly. Like it’s built in them to be that way, to fall back into each other.

Natural as breathing. Zay isn’t doing much of that at the moment, oxygen always a little harder to find when he’s close to Charlie like this. Aloof and unbothered... please.

They hold in the position for a long moment, centered in their studio, pressed together and faces only centimeters apart. It would be so easy to drift back together… too easy… for a fleeting moment, it seems like they might, noses brushing and Charlie closing his eyes.

But Zay holds strong. They know how things are. They’re not going to do this the wrong way again -- he doesn’t think could survive it if they did.

Zay: [ in a murmur ] We have to go.

They could loiter in the studio for much longer if they wanted to, actually, but that’s not the point. His actual meaning behind the statement is crystal clear.

You have to go.

Charlie meets his eyes, taking him in for another indulgent moment… then he nods. Knowing he’s right, grateful he’s stronger than him. Zay steps back and Charlie lets him go, slipping from his grasp.

Still, they walk out together. Zay pulls open the door and lets Charlie pass him, the latter waiting for him. Zay takes one last look at the studio, committing it to memory -- all of it -- then he flicks off the light, shutting the door and following Charlie down the corridor.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Riley makes her way through the wings, smiling when she spots what she was looking for. Lucas isn’t in the booth, but alone on the stage, having waited until everyone else headed out to come and do one last instinctive stage manager sweep of the place. He’s adjusting the dusty curtains, seemingly nonchalant, only it’s the way he handles the rope and eyes them with the utmost care that gives him away.

Lucas glances up and finds Riley watching him, embarrassed for half a second until he recognizes it's her. Then he’s still sheepish, but only mildly so, Riley’s endeared smile a decent enough salve to take the edge off.

Lucas: You know… I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m actually going to miss this place.

Riley: No way. You, Lucas James Friar? Student body president, knower of secret passageways, who used to live in the booth? You might miss this old place?

Lucas: I know, I know. [ with a shrug ] Call it Stockholm Syndrome.

Riley tilts her head, holding her hands out towards him. He obliges her tacit request and comes to join her, linking their hands together and pulling her closer. She wraps her arms around his torso and leans into a hug, pressing her cheek to his chest as the two of them look out at the auditorium around them.

It wasn’t perfect, no. But it was good. It was home. The place they were together; the place where they found each other.

They soak it up for a few moments longer… then Riley pulls back. Hands still together, she gently guides him off the stage, the two of them exiting through the house.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Farkle and Maya are the last ones to leave, seated on the atrium steps and breathing in the ambience of Adams for as long as they have left. Before the chaos of graduation intrudes, before a new year begins and some new scrappy divas show up to take their place.

That, and they’re waiting loyally for their third. They perk up when Isadora finally emerges from the hall, giving them a weary smile. They don’t ask her if she’s okay -- not really a point. It’s an emotional week for everyone, so the question feels moot.

For a moment, the three of them wait, establishing their presence one last time. Maya exhales, leaning her head back.

Maya: This hellhole is gonna be nothing without us.

Maybe so, Maya. Maybe so. Farkle beams, turning his smile on Isadora. She returns it, a bit of her melancholy chipping away.

Farkle gets to his feet, he and Isadora each taking a hand and pulling Maya to her feet. Then the three of them walk out of the school together, pushing through the doors and out into the setting Manhattan sunlight.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Riley is over helping Charlie finish packing, though much of his prep has already been done. He’s got a duffle bag all set by his desk and is now focused on his travel backpack, trying to decide which books to take with him. Riley marvels at how little stuff he’s actually taking.

Riley: Boys are insane. I could never travel this light. I would be so freaked I forgot something or that I wouldn’t have the right thing to wear when I needed it.

Charlie: I wear like three variations on the same outfit every day. It’s not that hard to pack light.

Riley: Well, and whose fault is that? [ off his eye roll ] You’re taking the boots Lucas recommended to you, right?

Charlie: Oh, yeah. Definitely. They were great on the family hike, figure they’ll do me a lot of good wherever I go tromping around.

Riley: Amazing. I love that. I think it’s so cute you asked him for help -- no one ever asks for his opinion on stuff like that. I mean, I don’t think he thought it was remarkably cute, but I do. It was cute.

Riley gets distracted looking at his passport, beaming at his photo.

Riley: Look at you. So adorable.

Charlie: It’s a passport photo.

Riley: And yet, you are adorable. How do you do it? Must be that irresistible Prince Charming glow…

Charlie makes a face, taking the passport from her and sticking it in his bag so he doesn’t incidentally lose it in the next couple days. Riley asks him if he’s figured out his itinerary as he settles down opposite her.

Charlie: Sort of. Starting in France, St. Malo specifically, because my dad has a friend who connected me with the host family there. It’s this super cool port town in Brittany, with these huge fortified walls you can walk along all around the city because it was built originally as a walled citadel. There’s a cathedral there I’m really excited to see, they have these stained glass windows that tell the history of the city through --

He’s rambling. Whoops. Charlie catches himself and waves off his nerd moment, getting back on track with logistics, but Riley doesn’t seem to mind. It’s obvious how excited he is about the trip, that he’s finally got something lighting his eyes the same way Zay’s do when he talks about dance or Lucas when he talks about animals. It’s beautiful, to see her friend be so passionate again.

Charlie: So, yeah, anyway, starting in Port Malo, then I’ll move inland and spend a chunk of time in Paris. Going to be spending a week or so in Germany, jump to Belgium at some point. I think my dad is going to meet up with me in Sweden and we’re going to go check out some of the mountain ranges. And I do want to go beyond Europe, like hit a few spots in Asia, and it would be so cool to go to New Zealand… but I don’t know. I don’t think I can pack every single sight I want to see in the span of a few months.

Riley: There will always be more trips. Whatever you don’t get to do this time, you’ll know what needs to be top of the list for next time.

Very true. A lot of life is like that, really. Charlie goes on to explain that while he has a rough sketch of what he wants to do, a lot of it will be about being flexible and being able to make accommodations -- organize with host families, finding a hostel or alternate housing if need be, play with travel timelines. So much of this trip is actually about being okay with not having a plan, and Charlie is looking forward to that. He thinks it’ll be good for him, figuring out how to truly exist in the moment rather than cowering under the weight of the past or future.

Riley could honestly use some of that right now… she knows she needs to just make a choice about school and go with it, see where it takes her, but it feels so paralyzing. She doesn’t want to choose the wrong path. She gently prods Charlie if he has any words of wisdom, which he kind of grimaces at.

Charlie: I mean… you know, it seems like everybody thinks Tisch is the one. All the prestige, all those opportunities. The fact that you got in at all should seem like the clear indicator that you should go.

Riley: Yeah, there’s definitely a strong crowd gunning for Tisch. Kind of makes me feel… dumb, like it’s the obvious choice.

Charlie: Well… so was Yale.

Oh. Riley absorbs that, a strong point even with the gentle, unassuming way Charlie says it.

Charlie: I know how hard it is to make the best choice for yourself when it feels like everyone is in your ear telling you their take, so I’m gonna refrain from chiming in. If that’s okay. But I believe you’ll make the choice that feels best for you at the time. And the good thing is, even if it turns out to be the wrong one, you can always change your mind. The world is full of second chances. [ a beat ] I would know.

He sure would. Even just the two of them sitting there having this conversation is proof of that -- considering how he used her as an unwitting beard and manipulated their friendship out of self-defensive fear for the first year they knew each other. She didn’t have to forgive him for that, let him make that mistake and move past it, but she did.

She did, and now she can’t imagine her life without him. Riley smiles, emotional, and leans forward to pull him into a hug. Charlie returns it, the two of them simply holding each other for a long moment…

Which is, naturally, the moment ELEANOR GARDNER decides to poke her head in. She lets out a little “and I oop” noise and apologizes for interrupting, Riley and Charlie quickly pulling apart and scooting a bit away from each other.

Charlie: Mom.

Riley: Hi, Mrs. Gardner.

Eleanor is lowkey thrilled at what she just witnessed, just feeding more and more into her misconceptions about the two of them. She tells them not to mind her, she didn’t mean to intrude, she just wanted to know if Riley was hungry or needed anything while she’s still here. If she’s planning to stay for much longer… Riley assures her she’s fine, and she’ll probably be heading out soon so no need to worry about her.

Eleanor takes the hint, leaving them alone… but not without the most knowing, tickled smile on her face. Don’t wanna get in the way of their romantic, emotional goodbye for now!

Charlie closes his eyes, shaking his head slightly, while Riley watches her go with so much amusement it’s amazing Eleanor can’t tell she’s laughing at her. Once she’s gone, Riley turns back to Charlie.

Riley: Better keep the door wide open. Don’t want to give her any ideas. [ mischievously ] Or maybe we should.

Charlie: Riley.

Riley: What? If I was your [ mouthing the word ] beard [ back to normal ] for this long without compensation, shouldn’t I get to have a little fun with it?

Charlie nudges her, begging her not to. His mother’s delusion about the two of them is already enough to deal with without breaking down laughing every time. Riley relents, smiling fondly at him.

Riley: I can’t believe you’re going. So soon.

It is hard to comprehend… Charlie notes he was actually considering leaving sooner -- the host family in Malo was expecting him today originally, based on their schedule -- but he negotiated with them to push it to the start of next week. With Senior Week, graduation, and everything…

Charlie: I already missed so much this year, you know? [ a beat ] I didn’t want to miss another thing.

But now he’s here, which right now, makes all the difference. Riley tilts her head affectionately.

Riley: Will you make me a promise?

Charlie: As long as it’s not to marry you.

Riley: You should be so lucky. But no. [ more serious ] When you come back, after you do all the things you need to do and see the things you wanna see… when you make it back to New York, promise me I will be your first call.

A tall order, especially when he’s oh so very popular… but coming from her, it’s not asking for much. Not when she’s granted him endless patience, many second chances, and a uniquely authentic friendship he didn’t even realize he was missing. That no matter how many times he tried to lock himself away, slip out of their grasp and disappear, she was always there pulling him back into the light.

With all that in mind, it seems like the least he could do. He smiles, nodding.

Charlie: Promise.

Riley mirrors his beam, pulling him in for another hug.

INT. NYU RESIDENCE HALL - BEATRIX’S DORM - NIGHT

Inside of a small, messy, dorm sits BEATRIX TORRES. She’s on her laptop on her bed, legs stretched out and blue light glasses on. Her hair is falling out of a haphazard bun on the top of her head, and she has a half-eaten bowl of ramen next to her. A college student through and through. 

There’s a knock on the door. Beatrix looks up from her laptop, not expecting any guests.

Beatrix: Cassidy isn’t here.

Isadora, off-screen: Who the fuck is Cassidy?

Beatrix: Who the fuck are you? 

Isadora opens the cracked door. Beatrix sits up, surprised and very confused.

Beatrix: What the hell are you doing here?

Isadora, sarcastic: Wow, I feel so welcomed. [ a beat as she enters ] Long time no see. 

Beatrix: No kidding.

Beatrix gestures for Isadora to shut the door as she moves her laptop aside and sits up properly. Isadora stands awkwardly in the middle of the room until Beatrix snaps at her to sit down already. She smooths out the duvet on Beatrix’s roommates’ -- presumably Cassidy -- bed before sitting. 

Beatrix: So… why are you here? 

Isadora: Do I need a reason to visit my favorite foster sister? 

Beatrix, dryly: Yes. 

Isadora rolls her eyes before telling her about graduation and how she’d appreciate it if she and Jericho could make it. 

Beatrix: I’ll consider it. 

Despite her nonchalant attitude, Beatrix takes the two tickets from Isadora eagerly, and doesn’t immediately kick her out now that their business is done. 

Isadora: What are you doing here? I thought you were going to move out with Jericho once you turned eighteen. 

Beatrix: They won’t give me custody of him until I have a stable job and place to live. The only jobs I could get were minimum wage, so I figured college was a good way to go. 

Isadora nods and asks what she’s studying. 

Beatrix: Nursing. Not the most exciting, but I’m enjoying it so far. I want to get into pediatrics ultimately. 

Isadora: That suits you. [ a beat ] I’m coming to NYU, too. 

Beatrix: Tisch? [ off her nod ] Good for you. You’ll do great. 

The energy between them is a little awkward, since neither of them are the best communicators, but it’s clear they care about each other. Beatrix offers her condolences for Valerie, to which Isadora mutters a quiet thank you. They both look around to avoid eye contact, searching their brains for something else to talk about. Isadora suddenly remembers something.

Isadora: Do you know where Catherina is by any chance? I want to invite her, too, but Blue doesn’t know anything about where she is. All Karen and Stephen could tell me is that she left.

Beatrix: I don’t, sorry. I can ask Jericho if he’s heard anything at the home about it, but I doubt he will have.

Isadora sighs, thanking Beatrix anyway. Looks like she’ll have one spare ticket. 

Isadora: Well, I should get going. Don’t want to disrupt your studying too much.

Isadora stands up, but doesn’t move to leave when Beatrix tells her to wait. She hands over her phone, telling Isadora to add her number. 

Beatrix: We should, like, meet up. Or whatever. If you want. 

Isadora, smiling: I’d like that. 

Beatrix: Cool. 

Isadora returns the phone before giving a small wave goodbye. She shuts the door behind her, leaving Beatrix alone. She looks down at the tickets for the graduation with a smile. 

INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Jack and Eric are having dinner together, avidly discussing the performance the A class pulled together and how sweet it was. Crazy, that the class that once was the bane of their existence for a number of reasons can be so lovely when they choose to be! Eric joins Jack on the couch with their plates and they knock their drink glasses together in mock cheers -- to the end of Senior Week -- and take a sip.

Jack pauses after he takes his drink, debating whether or not he wants to say what’s on his mind.

Jack: Noticed Lucas wasn’t there.

Eric: Hm?

Jack: During the performance. He was nowhere to be found.

Eric: Well, you know he doesn’t perform. Maybe he was in the booth.

Jack: He didn’t come down afterwards, so I don’t think so. [ shaking his head ] I can’t believe this is happening. I mean, all that time and effort, and he just…

It’s difficult to admit he’s hurt by the actions of his formerly most unruly student, but that’s the truth. After everything they’ve been through, he’s shocked that Lucas can just drop him like it’s nothing days before they all go their separate ways.

Jack: I mean, if I had known he was going to react like this, I would’ve --

Eric: What? Not resigned? [ off his shrug ] You know that’s not true. You couldn’t have predicted his reaction, and you’re logical enough to know that wouldn’t have changed things even if you did. You’re ready to move on. That doesn’t change based on how your students feel about it.

That’s true enough… if it did, he probably wouldn’t be leaving, if the way the A class emotionally sent him off is any indication. Eric examines him thoughtfully.

Eric: And you know, I don’t think it’s really about that.

Jack: What?

Eric: Your resignation. I don’t see why Lucas should care -- he’s leaving anyway, so it’s not like you not being at Adams affects him in any way. And we know he doesn’t care enough about the school on its own to be concerned about it, despite the begrudging fondness he may have developed in the time he’s been trapped here. [ a beat ] I think you were closer to it earlier. This idea that he’s dropping you right before he leaves.

Jack: And that’s any better… how?

Eric: Jack, think about it. Think about him, think about what you know about him. You said it yourself. All that time, all that effort you put into your relationship -- he was part of that too. You are the first person he’s ever trusted like that, considering we know how little progress I or anyone else ever made. He let you in, you gave him space in your life… and now it’s changing. No matter where you are, Adams or not, he’s still leaving.

Ah… so perhaps this is less about Jack, and more about Lucas. To finally have someone like Jack, a mentor he trusts, and to have to leave him behind… how does one even deal with that? Let alone someone shitty at emotions to begin with? Jack sighs, shaking his head.

Jack: Shit.

Eric: You’re the adult, Jack. I know it doesn’t feel like it sometimes, but you can’t expect him to know what you want from him. [ patting his knee ] If you want to talk to him, you need to communicate that. If you don’t want him to just drop you, fight for him -- you’re probably one of the only people who ever has.

Sage wisdom from the counselor himself. Jack processes this, already thinking about what to do next… then he places a hand on top of Eric’s, thanking him sincerely.

Jack: You always know exactly what to say.

Eric smiles. Jack leans in to steal a kiss, soft and slow… they go for another one, starting to fall into it a bit, when a phone rings, startling them both. They both pat their pockets to figure out whose it is, Eric claiming he thinks it’s his as he retrieves it.

Lo and behold, it is -- and Eric recognizes the number. Evelyn Rand. The two of them exchange a look, suddenly on edge… this could be it…

Jack: Take it. [ nodding ] Take the call, Eric.

The subtle encouragement shakes Eric out of his nerves. He picks up the call and gets to his feet, casting a side eye to Jack as he greets Evelyn on the other hand. Jack can’t sit still either, also rising and pacing uncertainly.

Eric: Yes. No, this is a good time. [ a beat ] Mhm. [ a beat ] Of course. Yes.

Whatever Evelyn says next, Eric reacts strongly, expression shifting and going frozen where he’s standing. But his expression is impossible to read, impossible to figure out what the verdict might be, even as Jack stares him down and tries to puzzle it out without context.

Eric: Okay. Okay, yes, I understand. Thank you. [ a beat ] Yes, sounds good. Will do. [ with a light laugh ] Yes, I’ll pass that along to the seniors. Okay… okay, bye.

Eric hangs up, exhaling a deep breath and processing whatever he just heard. Excruciating silence permeates the room… Jack can’t handle it, stepping closer and taking Eric’s arms.

Jack: Eric. What did she say?

Another moment of painful, unbearable not knowing… then Eric breaks into a grin.

Eric, shaky: You’re talking to the next principal of Adams Academy of the Arts.

Jack: Shut up. You’re not. Eric, don’t screw with me --

Eric: I am. I got the job. [ with a laugh ] I’m the next fascist bureaucrat some poor, bright-eyed counselor is going to absolutely despise.

Jack echoes his laughter, so overjoyed he almost doesn’t know what to do with it. The two of them embrace tightly, Jack patting him on the back, then pulling back to take his face in his hands.

Jack: Whoever that poor sap of a counselor is, just don’t fall in love with him, okay?

Eric cracks up, then pulls Jack into a kiss. Truly free to do so now, no longer constrained by the complications of coworkers or bureaucratic red tape or the fear that it isn’t reciprocated.

Light with the knowledge that Adams will continue to run in the caring, passionate hands of a principal perfectly suited for the role.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Riley sits alone on her bed, going back and forth between the brochure for Tisch and the welcome packet for Barnard. Both great options, with different pros and cons. One that saw her potential from the get-go, accepted her no questions asked with the freedom to explore many different things, the other that viewed her as a second choice but offers the undeniable allure of a clearer direct path towards one of the things she knows she loves.

Two good options, only one choice.

Riley puts the materials down on the bed, sighing and falling back against the pillows. She tries to think about all the things her friends have said to her, the encouragement and words of wisdom and reassurance that no matter what, she will excel regardless.

She’s Riley Matthews. Making the best out of a bad situation is kind of her thing, and neither of these options are even remotely bad.

She climbs off her bed, trying to follow her own instincts rather than the voices in her head and search for a source of inspiration. She lands on her moodboard, the visual manifestation of her dreams that she’s been perfecting and molding all series long. Peppered with mementos from the last three years, including a much clearer picture now of all the life-changing friendships she’s made along the way… but still populated around her inspirations or things she thought she might want to be. Broadway. Sara Bareilles. Things that seemed so dreamy and far-off once upon a time, now an actual decision she has to make whether or not to pursue.

It’s not the end all be all. It’s okay to make a mistake. If she tries to think about it like that, where the only thing she might fuck up is never giving herself the chance at all…

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - NIGHT

CORY MATTHEWS is at the kitchen table, finishing up some last-minute grade inputting on his computer for final record. He looks up when Riley enters the room, breathless.

Cory: What’s up? Is everything okay?

Riley: I want to go to NYU. I have to give it a try. [ decisive ] I’m going to Tisch.

Cory leaps to his feet, delighted and so very proud. Riley beams as he wraps her in a hug, more relieved by the fact that she made a choice at all than the actual specifics of what she chose.

With her future path cleared, now all there is left to do is walk it. As the a capella harmonies float in over her and her dad’s warm embrace…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

​​Song Cue ♫ ♪ “The Beginning” as performed by Little Mix || Performed by AAA Seniors

This simple but poignant Little Mix track serves as our transition to the big day, each of the A class lining up along the edge of the stage now in their graduation gowns -- an array of red, white, and gold.

At the same time, we intercut with quick glimpses of each of the A class getting ready at their homes, getting their semi-formal wear on, finishing their hair and make-up, pulling on those colorful gowns. They join in on the harmonies as the sound grows more powerful, until it’s the entire assembled vocal strength of the A class singing together.

Once the set is complete, the full A class arranged on the stage, one last title card reminds us exactly what occasion we’ve arrived at -- just in case it was possible we could forget.

Friday. Graduation.

INT. AAA - B AUDITORIUM ATRIUM - DAY

And the graduation excitement is definitely in the air, the halls of Adams abuzz as family, friends, and other distinguished guests arrive and mill about waiting to be let into the ceremony. It’s being held in the other auditorium at the opposite end of the school we usually inhabit -- oh, did you forget there were two auditoriums in this school? -- the fancier one usually rented out for professional and city purposes.

From where he’s standing with LEVI GARCIA, EMILY GARCIA, LILY GARCIA, GRANT ORLANDO, and Grace, RANDALL ORLANDO only somewhat jokingly remarks on the unfamiliar location.

Randall: Don’t think we’ve ever been on this side of the school before.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Back in our usual neck of the woods, the A class travels as a crowd while they follow Shawn to the cafeteria, the middle ground between the sides of the school and where the seniors will be held until they get ready for the procession into the ceremony. Maya is leading the way with Farkle, offhandedly discussing how unfair it is that the Vice President doesn’t get a speech at graduation.

Farkle: There’s only so many hours in the day, Maya.

Maya: And I deserve one of them. I mean, you get a speech.

Farkle: I’m valedictorian.

Maya: Still, I’m just saying, wouldn’t we all rather listen to me commemorate how fabulous this fine institution is rather than whatever demon crackling Lucas is going to spit into the microphone with his presidential --

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

Maya’s rant is cut short, her diva tirade stopping dead in its tracks when she’s distracted by the sight they see upon entering the cafeteria. In fact, all of the A class reacts, jaws dropping open slightly and looks of mild horror, confusion, and bewilderment crossing their faces.

The other class is already here. We finally get a glimpse of the fabled, oft forgotten, elusive senior B class -- and they’re basically like knock-off copies of our A class. There’s a knock-off Maya, a knock-off Farkle, a knock-off Charlie and a knock-off Zay. There’s genuinely enough knock-offs to go around, sans for one very important missing element -- there’s only one Riley Matthews, and they don’t have one quite like her since she arrived in the A class late anyway.

It’s eerie, something all of them seem quite eager to immediately forget as quickly as they discovered it. Maybe it’s a mirage… Maya nudges her peers to turn around, retreating safely to their own side of the cafeteria.

Maya: Look away, look away…

Dave, genuine: Who are those people?

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Lucas misses the reveal, though, as he’s been summoned elsewhere. He awkwardly sidles up to Jack’s office and lightly knocks on the door, all dressed in his gold graduation gown and holding his cap in his hands.

Lucas: You wanted to see me?

Jack greets him amicably, nodding and gesturing for him to come in. He’s also dressed for the occasion, in an especially nice suit jacket and looking particularly principal-y. He doesn’t give Lucas a hard time, not betraying any of his earlier upset. It’s not worth pinning blame or calling him out on his avoidance -- at this point, what matters to him is that they get the chance to talk at all.

Jack comes around the side of the desk, holding out his arms to show off the space. It’s basically empty, nothing left but the base furniture that it started with -- the desk, the chair Lucas always sits in, the vacant shelves. Lucas takes it in, expression unimpressed with just a hint of grief that gives his vulnerability away to anyone paying attention.

Jack: All packed up. Thought you might get a kick out of seeing it, given how much unwilling time you spent in here.

Lucas: Why would I want to see this?

The comment comes off harsh, but not because he meant it to. It’s just… hard, to talk right now. To verbalize anything without fearing he might crack apart. He averts his gaze, sheepish. Jack pauses but doesn’t hold it against him, being the adult and continuing on unabashed.

Jack: But you know, no matter how much you clean… some marks last forever.

Jack taps pointedly at the front of the desk. There’s persistent black smudges all along the wood -- scuff marks from all the times Lucas propped his boots against it.

That manages to soften Lucas a bit. He cracks the ghost of a smile, but it’s fragile, trembling under the weight of everything else he’s keeping so tightly chained in place. But all it takes is a chink in the armor sometimes… as Jack starts to explain the process he’s going to have to go through to fix it -- probably going to have to order a new desk, unless Eric doesn’t mind the remnants of his boots -- Lucas interrupts him.

Lucas: Is it because of me?

The words tumble out of him before he can stop them, delicate and laced with nerves. Jack raises his eyebrows, inviting him to elaborate. It seems like Lucas really doesn’t wish to, but now that he’s slipped up and started…

Lucas: Your resignation. I know I… [ guilty ] I know I made this job hell. For you. For four years straight. I drove you insane, and I had fun doing it. It didn’t seem like a big deal, at the time, but… if I’m the reason you…

He can’t get through it, too many conflicting emotions vying for control in his mind. But it’s clear that he can’t stomach the possibility that it’s on him, that it’s his fault Jack is leaving behind a job he’s so good at. That basically saved him.

Lucas: Are you quitting because of me?

For as torn up as Lucas feels, Jack just seems endeared. Finally, his behavior is starting to make sense… Jack crosses his arms, meeting his eyes.

Jack: You want the truth? [ off his nod ] Yes.

Lucas: [ almost inaudible ] … yes. I’m the reason.

Jack: Yes. But not for the reasons you think you are.

Lucas frowns, confused. Jack comes to stand in front of him, leaning back against the desk.

Jack: I always told myself that I would know when the right time to move on was. This was true when I was a history teacher. It was true when I was an associate principal. I have some pretty standard rules for figuring it out -- if I feel I’ve gotten everything I can from the role, if I learned all there is to learn and made a difference in some way that’s meaningful, beyond awards or accolades or bonuses, then it’s time to go. It’s time to stretch myself and see what the next rung on the ladder is.

Lucas hangs on his every word, barely breathing. It’s almost hard to see, the vulnerable way he’s looking at Jack, because he so rarely if ever seems so fragile. Child-like, in a way he never really got to be.

Jack: I’m not going to lie to you and tell you I didn’t have my moments with you. You were a pain in my ass, consistently, and there were days I was fed up. You pushed too far, more than once, and I think you know when those times were. [ a beat ] But you taught me a lot, too. Stuff not every administrator gets to learn, nuances I think more of us should know. You were a challenge, but you gave me much more than you took out of me, including a more refined sense of purpose. Where I’m hoping to go next, part of that is because of the experiences I had working with you.

Jack gets back to his full height, tentatively placing a comforting hand on Lucas’s shoulder. They’ve never been especially touchy-feely, both out of professionalism and by preference, but some moments call for a slightly different approach. Lucas glances at his hand, then back to him, eyes glassy.

Jack: I resigned because I discovered that it’s time to go. I’ve given everything I can to Adams, learned everything I could learn, and from my perspective, made a difference somewhere it really mattered. [ sincere ] You showed me that, Lucas. That’s why.

The sentiment hangs heavy between them, more direct and loaded with meaning than the two of them usually let themselves be. Lucas absorbs it, meeting his eyes… then he breaks all convention, stepping forward and pulling Jack into a hug.

Lucas, teary: I’m gonna miss you.

Jack is caught off guard, but it only takes him a few moments to catch up. He gets choked up, laughing as he returns the embrace and pats him bracingly on the back.

Jack: Don’t make me emotional yet, you haven’t even walked the stage.

Lucas simply holds on tighter, failing to hold back his tears and letting Jack hug him back. Soaking up the comfort for all its worth, absorbing the fatherly connection he didn’t realize he so desperately wanted, cherished, until the moment where it’s time to say goodbye.

Eric, pre-lap: Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll please enter and take your seats. The ceremony will begin in just about fifteen minutes…

INT. AAA - B AUDITORIUM ATRIUM - DAY

The crowds are finally starting to make their way into the auditorium, the atrium outside clearing somewhat. Charlie meanders his way through the throng in a more casual version of his Sunday best, not in any rush, somehow isolated again even when he’s surrounded by people. This is a community he belongs to, in so many ways, but without his peers there with him he feels especially out of place.

Not for long, though. As they’re making their way slowly towards the doors, DONNA BABINEAUX spots Charlie, nudging OMAR BABINEAUX and pulling JADA BABINEAUX’s attention towards him as she subtly points him out. After a moment of contemplation, Donna clears her throat, venturing a call into the crowd.

Donna: Charlie?

Charlie jumps slightly, surprised he’s being addressed. When he turns and sees who is talking to him, a nostalgic shock of panic shoots through him for a quick moment. Like he’s been caught red-handed…

But then it fades. He finds himself smiling, politely greeting the Babineauxs and obliging when Donna waves him over to come chat. She asks how he’s doing, and Omar congratulates him on his own graduation from a few weeks earlier. Jada adds that Zay might have mentioned he’s taking a gap year, which she highly approves of. Very, very cool.

Charlie, bashful: Thanks. I’m excited about it.

Donna: As you should be. It’s so great that you could be here for this, though. Riley is so thoughtful like that, she impresses me so much. Always on top of things.

Charlie: Oh, actually, her boyfriend gave me the ticket. Lucas.

Donna: Oh? How sweet. That’s one of the things I love most about Triple A, you know. The way you all really seem to look out for one another. [ a beat ] You know, I’m sure Zay would’ve given you one of ours if we had a spare one. He’s so glad you were able to come.

Charlie: [ with a shy smile ] … yeah. Yeah, I know.

They’re almost to the doors now, meaning it’s about time to find their seats. Donna asks if Charlie is meeting with anybody, if he has a place he’s planning to sit. If not, he’s more than welcome to park it with them.

Jada: You’ll probably have more interesting things to say than the endless sobbing I’m going to be stuck listening to.

Omar: Come on, now. Your momma isn’t that bad.

Jada: I was talking about you.

Charlie laughs awkwardly, about to politely decline on instinct… but then something stops him. He thinks on it for a long moment, then shrugs, offering a grateful smile.

Charlie: That would be great, actually. Thanks.

Donna beams, ushering him more securely into line with them and engaging him in conversation about his gap year plans.

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

The train is getting just about ready to leave the station, Harper shouting for the A class to get in alphabetical formation so they can be ready for the procession. They’ve got about five minutes! Metaphorical places, people! Riley turns around and playfully squeezes Farkle’s arm, seeing as they’re right next to each other by alphabetical surname.

Down in the back half of the line, though, it’s not quite so organized. Too many techie boys to cause mayhem -- and in fact, one of them might not even be here. Nate holds his arms out, asking the question to no one in particular and barely audible over the eager chatter of the soon-to-be graduates.

Nate: Where the hell is Dyl?

Asher hears him though. Asher hears him and immediately tenses, quickly scanning the room to search. Nate is right -- Dylan is nowhere to be found.

And he thinks he might know just where to look. Asher frowns, patting Lucas on the arm to let him know he’s going before disappearing from the line, rushing off...

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Our usual, familiar auditorium is startlingly vacant compared to the crowd and commotion of the B auditorium, already in hibernation for the summer. The lights are down, the ghost light standing resolute on the stage, an uncharacteristic quiet permeating the air that is usually so bursting with noise, music, life.

In the strange darkness, though, any light shines even brighter than normal. The prop loft is like a lighthouse from the dimness of the house, one light seemingly left on when everything else has shut down and closed up shop.

It’s the beacon Asher needs as he walks through the aisles, confirming his assumption.

INT. AAA - PROP LOFT - DAY

Asher ascends the step ladder he’s climbed a million times, not having to look much further to find what he’s looking for.

Dylan is curled up in their usual spot against the wall, gold graduation gown guaranteed to get dusty from sitting on the prop loft floor. His rosy cheeks are even more flushed than usual, tear-stained. He’s got his knees pulled up and is hugging something close to his chest -- upon closer inspection, Asher can see it’s his favorite prop, the ancient fragile Satan-protected clock.

The hands have finally hit 12. Time’s up.

Asher can’t help but smile, even though the sight isn’t exactly cheerful. Maybe because his boyfriend was exactly where he thought he would be, maybe because he’s destined to find everything about Dylan Orlando effortlessly endearing. He finishes climbing into the loft and approaches, claiming he’s going to get his gown all dirty as he crouches down in front of him.

Asher: You don’t want to look like you just swept up the auditorium floor when you cross the stage to get your diploma. [ affectionately nitpicking his hair ] Your hair is already mess enough.

Dylan, shaky: It doesn’t matter.

Asher: What are you doing up here? We’re going to go any minute now -- you don’t want to be late and miss your chance to walk.

Dylan: [ shaking his head ] I don’t want to. I’m not doing it.

Asher tilts his head, frowning sympathetically. Waiting for him to elaborate, to explain why he’s suddenly anti-graduation when he’s been the one hyping the rest of them up all year long. He thought he was excited about the future, about getting to see all his friends go do the things they were meant to do.

Dylan: I am. I am.

Asher: Okay. That’s good. So then…

Dylan: It’s just like -- [ huffing and wiping his eyes ] It’s over. It’s ending, Asher.

Asher: What is? High school? You always knew that was coming. And believe me, I think there’s a lot more to be excited about because it’s ending than in spite of it. And you know your friendships are gonna be fine -- if anyone could keep their friends no matter where they go, I’m positive it would be you.

Dylan: No, I know. It’s just...

Dylan struggles to articulate it, knocking his head back against the wall. Asher waits patiently for him to find what he wants to say, placing a hand on his knee and brushing his thumb against it soothingly.

Dylan: This school is special, Ash. The future is exciting, but… the rest of the world isn’t gonna be like Adams. This is a place where… where people dream, and take risks, and don’t fit the mold, and it’s okay. Where misfits like you and me can find each other. Where absolute weirdos can find their team. There’s no normal to conform to, you can be whatever you are, and be accepted. I know it wasn’t perfect, and we did stupid shit -- people fought over ridiculous stuff and hurt each other and made so many mistakes -- but it was still good. We still had each other. The A class… we’re a family. They’re family. [ a beat ] And now that family is breaking apart, and… [ voice cracking ] and everything is changing…

Only Dylan could find the sweetest, most heartwarming way to sum up this bizarre crop of students. Asher gives him a bittersweet smile, reaching forward and gently wiping his fresh tears with his thumbs. It’s not easy to see Dylan Orlando cry… and if Asher is starting to cry, too, it’s only because he cries at the drop of a hat and can’t help himself. He knows this is the moment he needs to be the brave one, to bolster Dylan after all the times Dylan has done the same for him.

He admits that Dylan is right, everything is changing. He’s not wrong about that, and they can’t avoid it. The rest of the world will not be like Adams; they will all be going their separate ways, at least for a while. But that doesn’t mean they’re never going to come back together. If anyone could pull them all back together with some weird cosmic gravity, it would be him. Change is scary, but it doesn’t necessarily mean breaking apart. And yes, it’s an ending in some ways -- but in so many others, it’s a new beginning.

Asher: It’s the BOT-R-O-Y-L, Dyl.

Dylan scoffs at that, cracking a small smile. Asher mirrors it, knowing he’s winning him over. 

Asher: And you’re right about this place, the way it felt, but it’s not the school that’s special. It’s special because we made it special. All of us. Every day, every moment. You’re gonna take that energy with you anywhere you go -- and I know for a fact anywhere you are is guaranteed to be one of a kind.

Dylan takes a deep breath, no longer on the verge of tears. He listens to Asher attentively, letting him pull him back from the ledge.

Asher: I know it’s scary. And I don’t know what happens next, I can’t promise you everything is going to be okay. But what I do know is that without a doubt, you will always have me. We decided that, so now you’re stuck with me. No matter what. Even if everything is going to change, you’re not going to face it alone.

Asher wipes the last remnants of Dylan’s tears, smile so fond it should be illegal. Then he holds out his hand.

Asher: Will you walk into the unknown with me?

Dylan holds his gaze, committing this moment to memory. Willing him to be right, believing the promise that even when they leave this place, whatever comes next, it will still be special. The new beginning can be more promising than the melancholy of a beloved ending. And that even if it’s not, they will have each other.

Then he takes his hand.

INT. AAA - B AUDITORIUM - DAY

​​Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Pomp & Circumstance March No. 1” as performed by Royal Philharmonic Orchestra || Instrumental (01:38 - 03:07)

Jack is at the podium, the crowd having found their seats. Only the front and center section remains empty, waiting for the seniors to fill it. Behind Jack, the faculty are seated in their semi-formal best, three chairs remaining empty beside Harper. In the orchestra pit, underclassmen orchestra students provide the graduation procession music.

Jack: If you’ll please rise and join me in welcoming them…

The assembled crowd gets to their feet, allowing us a chance to find a few familiar faces. Charlie and the Babineauxs rise from their spot in one of the upper sections; the Dylan-Lucas-Asher clan is located further to the left. KATY HART is keeping company with JENNIFER MINKUS, STUART MINKUS, and the entire Minkus clan. Blue, Beatrix, and Jericho are present as promised, gathered together in their own little pocket of seats a few rows behind Topanga and AUGGIE MATTHEWS.

Jack: It is my distinct honor and privilege to introduce the Adams Academy for the Arts senior class of 2021.

The music swells at the 2:10 mark, the house doors open… and in comes the Adams senior class, Yindra leading the parade for the A class on the right aisle. She walks confidently, one of the perfect choices to be right at front, Zay right behind her. He scans the crowd for his family, a smile blooming across his face when he finds them and sees Charlie standing with them.

Maya blows a kiss to Katy. Grant cheers obnoxiously for Dylan, who points towards his clan as he makes his way inside. Dave nearly stumbles and bumps into him, which makes him in turn bump into Jeff, all three bursting into laughter that thankfully can’t be heard over the orchestra.

As the rest of the class files into the front and center section, Lucas, Maya, and Farkle step off to the side and let the rest of their classmates file past. Riley gives Farkle another squeeze on the arm before she keeps going, tossing a wink to Lucas. Once everyone else seems to have settled in, the trio keep walking and make their way to the stage… occupying the spots of honor with the faculty as President, Vice President, and valedictorian.

Jack makes sure everyone is accounted for, scanning the front section and glancing over his shoulder, then smiles.

Jack: Please be seated.

Jack says a few opening remarks, commending the seniors for all their hard work and the accomplishments they’ve achieved in the last four years. He reflects on some of the highlights they’ve had, the challenges they’ve faced, and the memories he hopes they were able to make along the way. He in particular notes the hard work of their student government this year, bringing substantial, meaningful change to the institution through their activism that will be helping future Adams students for many years to come.

Jack: As many of you know, I’ll be retiring from the role of principal at the end of this year, and in some ways it feels poetic to be moving on at the same time as this crop of seniors. They have taught me more than they know, and they are truly unlike any other set of students I’ve had the privilege -- and pressure -- of overseeing in my decades-long career thus far. I have the strangely certain feeling they will remain so. So seniors, believe me when I tell you, it has been an honor and a journey serving as your principal.

The auditorium breaks into applause, none louder than the A class in the front and center section. Jack beams, waving off the fanfare, waiting until quiet resumes to speak.

Jack: And now, it is my pleasure to introduce your senior class valedictorian, who perhaps best embodies the conceit of defying comparison. Ladies and gentlemen, Farkle Xavier Minkus.

Farkle rises from his seat next to Maya and approaches the podium, exchanging smiles with Jack as he steps back and settles into his seat amongst the faculty. Farkle adjusts the microphone and retrieves his notecards from his pocket, though he hardly needs them. He clears his throat, looking out at the audience.

Farkle: I know what you’re thinking. Not another Farkle Minkus monologue.

This earns a laugh, especially from those who actually know Farkle Minkus. Farkle smiles lightly, pleased his ice breaker landed, then he truly launches into his speech.

Farkle: Right now, I bet most of you are thinking about the future. What comes next. Students, teachers, parents, siblings. It could be in regards to the next few months -- will I like my new school? Will I make new friends? Is paying all this money in tuition going to be worth it in four years? Or you might be thinking about the next few days -- where you’re going after this ceremony, whether grandma’s flight is delayed, what you’re having for dinner tonight. I get it -- when I was trying to write this speech, all I could think about was the future. What next, what next, what next? [ a beat ] Well, if you all will humor me, I want you to stop doing that for a second. Forget about what’s next and focus, even just for a moment, on right now. The person sitting next to you; all the late night cram sessions and belabored run throughs that got you to this place; the smell of this auditorium and the sound of my scratchy tenor that I know is just music to most of your ears.

Another well-earned chuckle… but they obey his directive. For a few seconds, the auditorium falls silent, thoughtful, the only noise the hum of the stage lights and light shuffling of all the assembled bodies in the room.

Farkle: I know how important the future is. I know it all too well, because there was a time where I almost didn’t get to see it for myself. And I know how easy it is to get caught up in that importance, the stressing and planning and obsessing over what comes next. Sometimes, you get so lost in that, it’s like you become frozen with the uncertainty. The fact that it’s unwritten, and you can’t just turn the page and see what happens next and know that everything will be okay. It’s easier to stay put and overthink the future, rather than rise to meet it. But that’s not life. That’s not living, and as I’ve learned during my time at Adams, being alive is maybe the greatest artistic experience any of us will ever get to have. [ a beat ] All of us are artists, in many different capacities -- we know what it’s like to live and breathe a performance. So when it came down to it, once I pulled myself out of the unknown of the future and focused on the here and now, what I needed to say became crystal clear. Be present. Breathe in the artistry and beauty of the everyday, the mundane, the moments we race past in pursuit of the future. Value your network; cherish your team. Take a moment to remember, every day, why you’re alive, and appreciate the fact that the reason you can’t just turn the page and find out what happens next is because you’re writing that page right now. In this very moment. The future is in our hands -- so let’s live some damn good art.

The auditorium bursts into applause. Maya claps enthusiastically from her spot on stage; Harper swipes a couple tears from her eyes. The Minkus clan is glowing with pride in the house, none more so than Stuart.

Farkle nods in gratitude, returning his notecards to his pocket.

Farkle: With that, it’s my responsibility to welcome to the podium our senior class president, the nonpareil Lucas James Friar.

The techie crew is loud and lively as Lucas rises to take the microphone, exchanging a nod with Farkle as they pass each other. There’s really no telling how this is going to go… Lucas adjusts the microphone for his height and then takes a moment to collect his thoughts, his notes written not on neat little notecards, but a napkin from Chubbies.

Boy, there’s a lot of people out there… Lucas freezes for a second, wondering if he can even get a word out… then he finds Riley in the front section, smiling up at him. He grounds to her for a quick moment, taking a deep breath… and then he finds his voice.

Lucas, bluntly: I hate this school.

The audience laughs -- they think he’s kidding, since most of them don’t know any better. To those that do, it’s almost doubly as funny.

Lucas: You think I’m joking, but I’m not. I hate this school. I could give a whole speech about everything I think is wrong with it, the wasteful, ridiculous elements, or lament the egos inherent in a school for the arts. My best friend and I even once wrote a manifesto, cleverly titled “Reasons Why Adams Academy for the Arts Should Be Shut Down,” and I alone was one of the reasons on that list. A student body president who once got suspended for slicking the atrium floor with mayonnaise, who hates so much about the school, yet got elected and made meaningful change at the institution he purportedly couldn’t care less for is a conundrum that could only exist in the walls of an insane asylum like Adams Academy.

There is something about Lucas’s blunt, deadpan delivery that is so disarmingly charming, so it doesn’t take him long to win over the crowd. Jack is eyeing him warily, wondering where the hell he’s going with this... Lucas arrives there soon enough, though, taking a moment to pause before pivoting his message.

Lucas: But it’s that exact kind of inexplicable happenstance that makes Triple A the place it is. A place equally as puzzling and problematic and paradoxical as the students who inhabit it… yet manages to teach something to even the most resistant of students. Adams is where I learned the true possibility of a second chance, as evidenced by me standing up here boring you all and saying more words in the span of three minutes than I’ve probably said combined in the rest of my uneventful existence, as senior class president of a student body that once despised me -- and the feeling was mutual. Adams is where I learned that any broken thing can be fixed, and nothing can’t be solved with help from the right crew.

Nate whoops, prompting the rest of the techies to erupt into cheers. They manage to crack a smile out of Lucas -- who of course was talking about them -- and from there, somehow, he can’t seem to put the smile away.

Lucas: Adams is a paradox, and it nurtures dozens of paradoxes every day. And yes, that’s extremely annoying most days, but it can’t be denied that the people that make up this school are, like Principal Hunter said when introducing my classmate, beyond comparison. That’s what really makes this place worthwhile, in spite of all the things that make it worth shutting down -- not the curriculum, or the opportunities, or the fact that we waste every week singing and dancing performances that no one on Earth will see and forget about them the next. It’s about the paradoxical, unparalleled people, the things we teach each other, and the ways in which we change for the better because of it. I’m one of those paradoxes, and while I may hate this school in theory, I don’t think I could’ve learned those things anywhere else.

That’s a pretty compelling testimony from one Lucas James Friar. The sentiment hangs over the room for a moment, its truth ringing bright -- especially to the senior A class. Then Lucas returns to his usual tenor, voice flat again.

Lucas: All that being said, I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. Let’s get this over with already.

That’s that, then. Dylan starts the applause and then the whole auditorium is cheering, Lucas torn between bashful pride and clearly wishing he could crawl under a rock. Jack comes to join him at the podium and sets him free, giving him a bracing pat on the shoulder and directing him back towards his seat.

Jack: And with that, I can’t think of a better way to transition to the diplomas.

Yes, no one gets a show on the road like Lucas James! As Jack prepares to start reading the names, the acoustic guitar floats in…

INT. AAA - B AUDITORIUM - DAY

​​Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” as performed by Green Day || Performed by Asher Garcia & Dylan Orlando

Intercut with the montage of the A class going to the stage to receive their diplomas, we get Dylan and Asher’s graduation performance as the senior prom court. It sets the mood for watching the seniors cross the stage perfectly, laid back and comfortable (and arguably cliché) yet just the right amount of poignant and sentimental. Dylan sits on a stool and plays the guitar while Asher sings, Dylan harmonizing with him now and then. They glance at each other and share smiles throughout, demonstrating exactly why they so easily cinched the reigning title of prom kings.

As each senior accepts their diploma, they take it from Eric and shake his hand (or in the case of Riley, give him a hug), and then shake Jack’s hand as they pass the podium to exit the stage. Dylan salutes his family and blows a kiss when he walks; Maya does a little bow once she accepts hers; Nate twerks his way off the stage. Eric winks at Isadora as she takes her diploma from him, and when Lucas shakes Jack’s hand, it’s more loaded than the others.

In the brief, final instrumental between the final two choruses, Jack returns to the podium. He tells the seniors that they may turn their tassels to the other side, and that they are officially graduates of Adams Academy of the Arts.

Dave cheers loudly, being the first to throw up his cap. The rest of them follow suit, the image of red, white, and gold caps raining down transitioning back to Dylan and Asher on the stage as they finish out the sentimental performance.

It’s something unpredictable that in the end is right I hope you had the time of your life…

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

The crowds have dispersed and spread out across the school to wait for the graduates, giving everyone a little more space. Most of the A class families have migrated their way back to the usual atrium.

And out the graduates come! Dylan and Asher are two of the first to emerge, leading the techies in a charge, Dylan carrying Asher piggyback style. They weave their way over to their families, Asher leaping down and each of them embracing their parents and eagerly showing off their brand new high school diplomas.

Charlie is still hanging with the Babineauxs, making them the perfect target for Zay and Riley as they wander out to the atrium. Riley gives a tight hug to Charlie first, Zay accepting one from his parents and a noogie on the head from Jada that he shuffles away from. Donna of course takes the time to congratulate Riley as well, engaging her in conversation about her recent decision about Tisch.

Which gives Charlie and Zay a few seconds to themselves. They break the wise barrier they’ve been slowly rebuilding just long enough to exchange a hug in congratulations.

Charlie: [ in his ear ] Way to go, Dizzy.

Zay smirks, elbowing him lightly in the midst of their embrace. When they pull apart, their hands linger just a little too long to be truly casual in spite of how hard they’re trying -- something Jada clearly eyes with interest, but Donna gives her a subtle head shake. They’ll unpack that as any nosy family members would, surely, but not now.

Riley claims she should go find her parents, and Charlie offers to go with her. He’s bothered the Babineauxs enough already, which Donna refutes and claims he’s nothing but a joy to have for company. He’s welcome with their family any time.

If she had any idea how much that actually means… Charlie thanks them again, following Riley through the crowd. Zay barely gets the chance to process that exchange, being accosted by Yindra and Nigel as they tackle him and scream about the fact that they did it, baby! True Star Squad is OUT, BITCHES!

Over with the Minkus clan, Angela comes by to exchange greetings and offer Farkle a congratulations. She claims she knows it hasn’t been the easiest journey for him, so she hopes he knows how proud she is of him. Look at him now -- valedictorian, graduate, off to Los Angeles to do so many amazing things. He’s grown so much, and she can’t wait to see all the amazing things he’s going to accomplish.

Farkle: Thanks. [ a beat ] I know you got a lot of crap for stuff like playing favorites, and maybe weren’t the perfect teacher --

Angela: Wouldn’t try to claim I was, believe me.

Farkle: But it meant a lot to me, that you paid attention. So thank you for believing in me. I really needed someone to believe in me.

Angela smiles, growing emotional. They exchange a hug.

Meanwhile, Eric is chatting with Isadora’s former foster siblings while Grace and Jack wait patiently for Lucas. She takes the opportunity to shyly engage Jack in conversation, thanking him for everything he’s done. Mentoring Lucas, mainly, but also for even agreeing to let him into the school in the first place.

Grace: I know he wasn’t easy to deal with. When I asked our friend to put in a word with you, I honestly didn’t think it would work. It’s a credit to you, that you were willing to take a chance on him. I will never be able to repay you for that.

Ah, yes, acknowledgement of that mysterious patron… Jack nods.

Jack: No need. I admit, it wasn’t always easy, but getting to know Lucas has been one of the greatest privileges of my career. It was my pleasure.

Grace smiles, touched. Before they can say anymore, Isadora and Lucas join them. Once congratulations and greetings are exchanged, Grace suggests that the four of them should get a picture together.

A couple of grumpy graduates and their unexpected, life-changing mentors... surprisingly, they all agree without much complaint, and Lucas and Isadora both actually smile in the photo that Blue takes on Isadora’s phone.

Maya and Farkle weave through the throng hand in hand until they find familiar faces, joining Riley and Charlie by the staircase. Farkle exchanges a quick hug with Charlie, and Maya gives him a theatrically condescending head tilt.

Maya: Charlie. Sweet, sweet Charlie Gardner.

No hugs being exchanged there, but something about the silly exchange is oddly endearing. Charlie takes her attitude in stride, offering kudos to her as well.

Maya shifts focus and pulls Riley into conversation about Tisch, super enthused about her decision. Finally, Riley making the bold moves all on her own! Isadora and Lucas wander over to join them, Isadora jumping in mid-conversation and plainly pointing out that now that Riley is for sure also going to NYU, she should really just move in with them.

Not a bad idea… okay. Why not? Riley agrees, claiming she’ll do it. All three girls cheer, eagerly launching into conversation about how they can style the space and how to divvy up the rooms -- Maya and Riley can probably stomach rooming together again. They handled it swimmingly the last time.

Lucas: God.

Charlie: Hey, look at this way. At least you’ll be three-thousand miles away.

Lucas: If Maya’s in the same room as wherever I’d be coming back to, wish I could get even further away.

Zay comes to join them, sliding in between Charlie and Lucas.

Zay: What are we talking about?

Charlie: Maya and Riley being roommates.

Zay: [ with a snort; to Lucas ] Sad for you.

Lucas: Yes. I’m aware.

Zay: Funny for me, though.

Lucas: You just said it was sad.

Zay: For you. And that’s funny to me.

Charlie grins at their exchange, Lucas glaring unamused at Zay’s smug smirk.

Katy catches up to Maya, seeing all of them assembled together and claiming she should get a photo of all of them. They may find they want to look back on this moment later. After a little needling and some prodding from the more sentimental folks -- Riley most vocal among them -- they all concede, coming together for the shot. Maya double checks that the twinks are nowhere in sight.

Maya: Okay, snap it quick, before they get here. They’re like Friar bloodhounds, they’ll find us soon enough.

And so Katy does, getting a rare, unheard of snapshot of our main seven. In the same place, at the same time together -- before they all head off in completely different directions.

INT. GARCIA HOME - ASHER’S BEDROOM - DAY

We’re close on Asher’s calendar, filled with dates and notes and reminders as always. He crosses out Friday with a Sharpie, showing that we’re now on Saturday.

The agenda? “Graduation party.” Asher is dressed for it, wearing a new, cute patterned short sleeve button down and hair combed to perfection. As we ease away from the close up and more of his room starts to become visible, it’s jarring how empty it’s starting to feel with stuff slowly being packed in boxes all over the room.

Just like Jack’s office. Just like so many things.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Asher isn’t the only one having a graduation shindig. Maya and Farkle are throwing a joint one together at the Minkus home, their spacious expensive home more than a fitting venue for such an occasion. The place is packed with Farkle’s family, some familiar like EZEKIEL MINKUS and LILA MINKUS, others not like extended relatives and the fabled but not yet introduced RAZIEL MINKUS with his girlfriend, returned from Belgium for the celebration.

URI MINKUS is lurking in the shadows, trying to avoid any attention from chatty older relatives, but we quickly discover he was allowed to invite a couple friends of his own to get through it. And if you’ve got a keen eye, you might recognize before we pan away that he’s handing off a drink to ROSIE GARDNER, his chosen companion for the day.

The stars of the hour, Maya and Farkle, are currently chatting with Riley, Zay, and Isadora. Riley is just in the midst of excusing herself, though, having spent her time dutifully at their party but needing to make the rounds elsewhere. Maya rolls her eyes.

Maya: Yeah, yeah, go be with your boyfriend or whatever.

Riley ignores her disdain, giving her a quick hug and then doing the same with Farkle. She grants him a kiss on the cheek, too, reminding him that they’re grabbing brunch tomorrow so she can get one more Farkle time in before he leaves. Then she tells Isadora she’ll touch base with her later about the apartment, exchanges a swift side-hug with Zay, and makes her smooth exit.

Maya: I swear, that girl makes me look like a social hermit.

Maya and Farkle get pulled into mingling with their guests, leaving Zay and Isadora alone. It’s been a while since they last caught up, so Zay breaks the ice by congratulating her one-on-one for surviving the Hell that is Triple A. Not without a couple close calls, she jokes… but yes. Here they are.

Isadora: Kind of surprised you’re not having a party of your own. Like me, it makes sense -- I’ve only got like five good friends. Everyone is friends with you.

Zay: Eh, I’m not trying to compete. I’m busy enough making the rounds between parties this weekend -- Yindra’s also having hers today, and then Nigel’s is tomorrow afternoon. It’s not like we’re not all gonna see the same people at these things over and over again, so I think of it more like I’m just borrowing everyone else’s party.

Isadora: Ah. Clever.

He doesn’t serve anything less, Isa! The conversation drifts to the prospect of friends, how that might be changing in the coming days, weeks, months. Isadora asks how Zay feels about the fact that some of his best friends are going so far away -- how can he be so calm about it?

Isadora: I mean, Yindra’s going to Los Angeles, and Charlie’s going… somewhere? Abroad? I don’t even fucking know.

Zay: He barely knows either.

Isadora: How does that not make you… I don’t know, insane? I’ve been trying to wrap my head around it for months and I just… can’t. How are you so cool about it?

Zay pauses, contemplating. Believe me, Isadora, he is not nearly as unbothered as he appears… but ultimately, what else is he gonna do?

Zay: I can’t control other people. Even if I don’t want them to go, if I’d rather have them here, it’s not my place to tell them to stay. Or ask them to, even if they might say yes. I try hard not to get bent out of shape over things I have no control over -- the stuff I do have power over is already demanding enough. So I guess I just... let it be. Depends on how much you believe in the friendship, maybe, but I just have to trust that when we come back together, at whatever point, things will be okay.

Isadora: I’m not great at that. Trust.

Zay: Yindra and I have been friends for years, and we got through a decent amount of shit this year when we were right in front of each other. Trouble isn’t dependent on how close or far away you are. If we could endure that, all the stupid bullshit we created for ourselves, then I think I have to believe we can handle whatever else might come our way. [ with a shrug ] I get it, what you’re feeling. And I’m not an especially spiritual guy, but at some point, you just gotta... find whatever version of faith works for you. Whatever that means.

Isadora absorbs that, thoughtful. Zay scoffs at himself.

Zay: I hate a cliché, but honestly, it’s kinda like that old saying. If you love something, set it free, and if it’s meant to come back to you…

Then it will. You just have to believe it will. Zay leaves it unfinished, shrugging again and giving her a nod before drifting back into the crowd to mingle. Isadora looks after him… then lets her gaze shift, landing on Farkle chatting with a couple of his relatives.

INT. ORLANDO COMMUNITY CENTER - DAY

Meanwhile, in a different part of town, a whole other joint graduation party is in full swing. Lucas, Dylan, and Asher are sharing their celebration, an eclectic range of guests present from Asher’s extended Latinx family on his dad’s side, to Dylan’s friends from middle school, to the always multifarious presence of the techie crew.

Riley ducks into the community center just in time to catch Randall’s toast as he steps up to the microphone. She weaves her way through the crowd and comes to join Charlie, who greets her cheerfully before turning their attention to Papa Orlando.

He singles out the infamous trio and draws attention towards them at the center of the room, Asher growing sheepish and Lucas rolling his eyes while Dylan waves like royalty to the assembled partygoers with a huge smile. Yeah, that just about sums them up.

Randall: If I’m going to be candid on this momentous day, I’d have to say I had my doubts that the three of them would make it to this point. [ holding for laughter ] Not Asher, I should clarify. He’s a genius and probably the only reason the other two are still standing.

Dylan: It’s true! Bail out!

Randall: But even in the moments I thought it, I quickly corrected myself. I knew that was wrong. These three guys, they’re unlike any other trio out there -- and I knew they’d be okay. They’ve impressed me many times over the years, subverted my expectations. Shown… courage, compassion, resilience, and wisdom in ways I know I didn’t have when I was their age. More than that, I knew they cared about each other, and that they’d pick each other up if they fell. That’s one of the greatest things to get as a parent, that I know I’m lucky to have gotten with these goobs -- I never doubted that my boy would be okay, as long as he had the two of them.

Bro, shut up… Asher tears up again, earning an amused head shake from Lucas. Dylan throws his arms around both of them, hugging them closer.

Randall: All this to say, we made it here. And I think we can now safely say that I’m always right, and father Orlando knows best.

Dylan: Hell yes he does!

Randall: So I guess it’s time to celebrate. [ raising his drink ] To Dylan, Asher, and Lucas.

The assembled crowd mimics the cheer, full of enthusiasm and fondness. Music kicks up again as Randall descends the small stage.

Jack makes his way to Lucas through the crowd, asking him if he has a second. Lucas nods, following him to the edge of the party towards the table where they’re accumulating a decent pile of gifts across the three of them. Jack explains he has to head out soon, but he wanted to get the chance to give his gift to Lucas in person.

Lucas: You didn’t have to get me anything.

Jack: No, with this one, I think I did. I know you won’t do it for yourself, and with all the important things you’re going to be doing in the near future, you’re going to need one you can rely on.

He hands him an unassuming gift bag, encouraging him to open it. Lucas glances around as if all eyes are on him, but they aren’t, so he lets his curiosity win out. He retrieves the bundle from inside the bag, lifting it out and unfolding it to get a better look.

His very own suit jacket. Nothing fancy, not too flashy, but versatile enough for any occasion he might discover he needs it. He won’t be able to keep borrowing from Jack at the last minute when he’s three-thousand miles away.

Lucas stares at it, touched, while Jack gives him another pat on the shoulder.

Jack: Always knew you could do it. I’m proud of you.

And what a difference that belief can make. Lucas manages a smile, thanking him with a nod.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

It’s Katy’s turn to give a toast at the Minkus-Hart gathering, shyly taking center stage when Jennifer manages to gather everyone’s attention. She thanks the Minkus family for hosting and letting her and Maya share the celebration with them, then shifts focus to the graduates.

Katy: It’s been a journey watching the two of you the last four years. From rivals, to friends, to… the special bond you share now, you’ve had quite the ride. You’ve both grown immeasurably, in a way that makes me as a mother both extremely proud and very, very emotional -- I’m sure Jennifer can vouch for me on that.

Jennifer: Too true.

Katy: It’s been amazing to see you -- really, your whole class -- improve and thrive the way you have. And I know you’ll continue to, wherever your journey takes you next, whether it’s only a couple blocks away at NYU or all the way across the country.

A touching sentiment. Farkle smiles, but something about it seems to strike Maya. She smiles, too, but it’s not as strong as his.

Katy: In fact, with my baby girl, it feels like I’ve been watching this journey since she was in diapers. Which… I know this will embarrass you, Farkle, and I’m sorry, but your mother convinced me --

Farkle: Oh no.

Katy: We’ve put together a little slideshow to capture just how beautiful that journey has been so far. And it starts, tellingly, with a little blonde girl who had a very, very big voice.

Ezekiel turns on the big screen TV and cues up the slideshow, hitting play. A video of a young Maya starts it off, encouraging her mom to record her while she gives a riveting performance that she thinks, at the time, is diva level material.

Young Maya: Hi, my name is Maya Penelope Hart, mezzo soprano star, and I’ll be singing “The Climb” by my favorite artist, Miley Cyrus.

The guests chuckle as baby Maya gears up to sing.

​​Song Cue ♫ ♪ “The Climb” as performed by Miley Cyrus || Performed by Maya Hart

The first verse and chorus of the performance are reserved for young Maya (basically exactly like this video of a young Sabrina Carpenter doing the exact same thing), milking the vocals for all they’re worth even though she’s unrefined and unpolished. She has some diva moves to go with the dramatic singing, Farkle snickering and mimicking the little head wave and finger wag she does.

But present Maya isn’t laughing. She’s glued to the screen, transfixed, looking at her former self not with her usual smug satisfaction, but with melancholy. Thoughtful. Like there’s something about her, this version of herself, that she’s recognizing she hasn’t seen in a long time.

As the music swells and kicks off into the second verse --

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The Maya of today takes over the performance, commanding the imaginary stage with a notable amount of authentic emotion. It’s impressive how much she’s grown as a vocalist from her youth, all those years of intense focus and training paying off. She’s dressed plainly, forgoing her diva veneer, nothing but her, a microphone, and the music.

As she sings, the backdrop behind her on the stage shows additional moments from the slideshow -- photos of Maya and Farkle growing up, photographs of the ensemble from the earlier years of AAA (behind the scenes of Les Mis, freshman year, etc).

At the same time, we’re also jumping to each respective graduation gathering, capturing the A class in those celebratory moments of the present with each other. At Yindra’s party, she, Zay, and Nigel cheese hard for a selfie; Asher and Dylan cut the graduation cake at theirs like it’s a wedding cake, jokingly feeding each other and really just making a mess. Charlie and Lucas lean close to Riley to watch the video she’s showing them on her phone, something from behind the scenes of graduation that she tries to explain while riddled with giggles.

I may not know it, but these are the moments that I’m gonna remember most, yeah

This pattern continues throughout the remainder of the number, Maya growing more impassioned as she goes. She seems to be having an epiphany as she goes, an emotional realization that is equally present on her face as she watches the slideshow of her and her best friend as it is on the AAA stage.

She’s been so focused on the goal, the perfect path, getting every step right, that it’s like she almost missed the journey to get there.

It ain’t about how fast I get there Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side It’s the climb

That emotion is heavy on her face as she wraps up the performance, obviously showing she has a lot to think about. As the music fades the lights go down with it, casting her in shadow until the screen fades to black.

Break 3.

INT. GARDNER HOME - NIGHT

The doorbell rings, AMBROSE GARDNER pulling the door open and surprised to find Zay standing on the stoop. Zay is surprised to see him, too, obviously not expecting he would be the one to answer.

Ambrose: Hello. Is there something I can do for you?

Zay: Uh… yeah. I’m here to see -- is Charlie home?

Charlie, off-screen: Dad --

Charlie rushes down the stairs, arriving just a second too late. It’s clear he was expecting Zay, but that he also wasn’t anticipating that Ambrose would get to him first. He quickly comes to join them by the door.

Charlie: Um, dad, this is my friend, Zay. From Adams.

Zay manages a smile, though anyone who actually knows him would be able to tell it’s a bit forced. Ambrose blinks, processing the fact that Charlie has this whole entire friend who he apparently never bothered to introduce them to even after four years… knowing, in the back of his mind given what he now knows about his son, the exact reason why that probably is…

Ambrose: Sure. Yeah, I recognize you.

Both of them tense, Charlie’s eyes widening. He does? Ambrose clarifies innocently a moment later, elaborating.

Ambrose: From the shows. We saw you in the plays. You’re really, quite... good.

Ah… yes. That makes sense. Charlie relaxes somewhat, Zay nodding and unable to hold back his pleased smile. He may not trust the Gardners, but come on, he’s not one to say no to praise!

Zay: Thank you very much. I work hard to make it so.

Charlie smiles slightly at his predictable reaction to the compliment, then clears his throat. As not terrible as this exchange has managed to be, he can only handle so much awkwardness before it kills him.

Charlie: We were just gonna go to my room for a bit. [ uncertainly ] If that’s okay.

Ambrose glances between them, then looks at Charlie. He’s asking him for permission, asking for him to be comfortable with it… and considering Ambrose really doesn’t even know what he’s asking permission for, technically, he doesn’t exactly have a reason to say no.

Ambrose: Oh, of course. Sure. Come on in, please.

Zay hesitates for a second longer, wondering if he might burst into flames the moment he steps inside… but then he accepts the invitation, entering the Gardner home without fanfare. Without secrecy. Without the world collapsing around them. Talk about a momentous day indeed…

Charlie thanks his dad, then starts to lead the way up the stairs. Zay follows, only pausing when Ambrose politely calls after them again.

Ambrose: It was nice to meet you.

Whether he does have an assumption about the true nature of Zay and Charlie’s complicated relationship or not, it’s hard to say, but the sentiment lands regardless. Zay smiles, this one much less forced than before.

Zay: You too.

And strangely enough, he thinks he means it. As they disappear up the stairs, Rosie watches them go from her spot on the armchair in the family room. A smirk blooms across her face.

Rosie: Suspect #3 it is...

INT. NYU GIRLS APARTMENT - NIGHT

Isadora is the first to start moving into the new apartment, establishing what the space looks like for the first time. It’s a cute, sensible first apartment for a few young adults, a decently sized kitchen spilling into a cozy living area with a couch, a couple armchairs, and a coffee table. In either direction, there’s a bedroom, Isadora heading towards hers now on the right.

Farkle is with her, assisting her with the early parts of the move while he’s still here. This works out for the best, since most of the heavy lifting won’t be until later, and he wouldn’t be very useful in that regard anyway.

INT. NYU GIRLS APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

They drop the boxes onto the stripped mattress, Farkle releasing a sigh and placing his hands on his hips. He gets a good look around, nodding in approval. It’s a pretty great starter apartment, though given Valerie’s inheritance is paying for it, that’s hardly surprising.

Isadora: I didn’t want to like, go overboard and splurge… it wouldn’t have felt much like me.

Farkle: Couldn’t agree more. The apartment we picked for me in LA is the same way, though I can still admit I’ve got privilege getting the comfortable digs I’m getting. I know I could’ve lived in the dorms, but considering my tendency to be a bit…

Isadora: Unhinged?

Farkle: And the fact that I like to run through routines or performance ideas at 3AM when I’m suddenly struck with inspiration, yeah, I figured I’d spare some poor unsuspecting peer the torture. He probably wouldn’t know how to process waking up in the middle of the night to his roommate practicing another tap routine to Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat to work through nervous energy about a midterm exam.

Can you even imagine… in any case, that’s why Farkle is heading out so soon. He needs to go out and deal with the arrangements for his new digs, and his parents think it’ll be good for him to practice figuring that out on his own… with a phone a parent option in case of emergencies.

Isadora: Thanks for taking the time to come help me. I know you’ve probably got a lot to do, leaving so soon.

Farkle: My pleasure. [ starting to unload the boxes ] Good for Icarus to get a dose of his favorite Dethroned Queen before we go our separate ways. I’ll probably go through snarky deadpan withdrawal.

Isadora: I’ll record voice memos of me dragging you. For whenever you need a quick fix.

Farkle: Another thing that would make a concerned roommate feel so reassured. Thanks, I’ll listen every night to lull me to sleep.

He’s being sarcastic, but there is still a flirtatious edge to their banter that hasn’t gone away with his new sense of peace. That’s been there for ages, since they really became friends, because it’s like they don’t know how to be any other way with each other. And now Isadora can’t seem to not notice it, the playful promise making her pulse race in a way she wishes it wouldn’t.

She’s not dealing with this. She made her decisions.

Farkle can’t stay much longer anyway, but he seems to remember something.

Farkle: There’s something I have to give you.

Isadora: What?

Farkle holds up a finger, digging through the box he was carrying to retrieve his string bag. He threw it in there before they left Eric’s with the stuff, but he brought it along for a reason. He opens the bag and dumps the contents on the bed.

Stuff that belongs to Isadora. Things she’s left at his house, or let him borrow, amounting to a decent little pile of siphoned collectibles.

Farkle: When I was packing, I couldn’t believe how much of your stuff I kept finding. I didn’t realize you spent so much time at my place. But I wanted to make sure I gave it back to you before I left -- would be a lot more cumbersome to try and return it to you from three-thousand miles away.

Isadora picks through it, obviously not having remembered she left or gave them away. Except for one item, one of the biggest of the bunch, that quickly captures her attention.

Her copy of Pride & Prejudice. The one she let him borrow when he was recovering from his lowest point, that he’s reread so many times in the last year she can tell it’s more creased than when she gave it to him. That it means something to him now, too, even if he didn’t openly scribble all his annotations in the margins.

Although… he sure did scribble something all right. It’s clear he forgot about it, or else he wouldn’t be so casual about returning it, but his love letter is still stuck in the front of the book. Isadora doesn’t know it’s there, but we can see it, the corner of the paper just peeking out from under the frayed cover page.

She’s holding his confession in her hands, and she doesn’t even realize. All it would take would be for her to flip open the novel…

But she doesn’t. Instead, she manages a smile, handing it back to him and closing his fingers around it.

Isadora: You keep it.

Farkle, surprised: Are you sure?

Isadora: Yeah. You’ll need it more than me, some actual meaningful literature out there in sunny Los Angeles where the world is so plastic. Use it to keep you humble, remember your roots.

Farkle laughs, accepting that reasoning. He’s not gonna say no, after all. He takes it from her hands, and with it, his unwitting lingering confession, and returns it to his string bag.

With that, he should probably go. He pulls his bag onto his shoulders and promises he’ll catch up with her sometime after he’s settled in. She nods, about to let him go without comment…

Isadora: Farkle.

He pauses in the doorway, turning around and raising his eyebrows. Isadora swallows, the plea slipping from her lips almost like a confession of her own.

Isadora: Aren’t you going to hug me goodbye?

Farkle is taken aback at first, knowing how iffy Isadora is about touch. Then he smiles, fond, and closes the distance between them to pull her into an embrace.

Perhaps the most compelling thing about a hug, in a narrative sense, is how you can’t see the face of the other person when you do. Farkle seems content as they hug goodbye, grateful for the chance to get to share one last moment with her but at peace with where they stand.

Isadora, on the other hand, seems conflicted, more emotional than she tends to be. She should get as far away from him as possible. She should tell him the truth. She should confess that she doesn’t understand anything, and it makes her feel insane, and he might be the only other person on Earth who gets how it feels to be her.

But she doesn’t. She made her choice, and she’s happy with Chai, and most importantly, Farkle is too important to lose. She won’t risk that for anything. So she screws her eyes shut and holds him tight, absorbing the embrace. The only person whose closeness doesn’t feel like an intrusion, that will always feel weirdly a bit like home.

Then, she lets him go. Farkle pulls back and tells her goodbye for now, elbowing her one more time before he backs away and heads out. Isadora watches him go, forcing a smile that she convinces herself is sincere.

INT. GARCIA HOME - ASHER’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Dylan finishes taping a box with a flourish, stepping back to happily admire his handiwork. It’s a pretty messily done job -- he used way more tape than necessary and there’s still a couple things poking out of the seams -- but he looks downright proud.

Dylan: Ta-dah. Masterfully done. [ twirling the tape on his finger ] What would you do without me?

From where he’s watching in amusement with Lucas, Asher nods encouragingly.

Asher: Great job, babe.

Dylan beams, stacking the box with a couple others and turning his attention to another one. Lucas leans closer, murmuring so Dylan can’t hear.

Lucas: You’re gonna repack that, aren’t you?

Asher: Oh, within the hour. Yeah.

Lucas smirks, shaking his head. Dylan places a couple of the remaining items from Asher’s side table into the open box -- along with, we can see, the prop loft clock, so Dylan wasn’t kidding when he said he would steal something -- then plops down on the bed next to it. The three of them casually discuss what the take-off plan for Asher is as he finishes removing the last items from his bulletin board, including his calendar.

Much like a couple of our other mains, he’s leaving much sooner than expected, as he has a special orientation for his program that starts next week. He’s leaving on Sunday to drive upstate with his dad. Then Dylan will be moving up a couple months later, same time that Lucas is supposed to fly out to California.

Dylan: Crazy, huh? How fast time flies. [ geeking ] And California, man!

Lucas smiles at him, shrugging. Asher hesitates on the last item left on his bulletin board -- the photo of the three of them. The reality of what’s happening seems to hit him in that moment, voice soft as he takes the picture down from the board and holds it carefully in his hands.

Asher: Yeah. California…

So far away. The farthest they’ve ever been from each other. Lucas and Dylan exchange a look.

Lucas: … you crying, spaghetti?

Asher: … [ with a sniffle ] No…

So, yes. Because he’s Asher, so of course he is.

Lucas and Dylan both smile fondly, the former hesitating only a moment before crossing the room. He taps Asher’s shoulder so he’ll turn to look at him, then continues his bold streak of emotional vulnerability by initiating a hug. Asher hesitates, then returns it tightly, succumbing to the tears as he absorbs the rare hug with his best friend.

After a few moments, Lucas locks eyes with Dylan over Asher’s shoulder and nods for him to come join them. Dylan smiles, getting to his feet and closing the space between them, completing the trio and wrapping his arms around both of them.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

The door is left open only a crack rather than wide open like when Riley was over, because something about broadcasting Zay’s presence to the entire house still feels dangerous. On Charlie’s bed, Skippy happily chews on a bone treat Zay must’ve given him.

Zay and Charlie, on the other hand, aren’t even in the room. They’re out on Charlie’s balcony, an establishing shot from inside capturing the two of them through the glass doors.

Zay: I wanted to give Skippy his first, because I know it’s gonna hurt his feelings when you suddenly leave.

EXT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BALCONY - NIGHT

Charlie’s balancing a wrapped package from Zay in front of him against the railing. He gives him a withering look.

Charlie: Well, I can’t exactly tell him. He doesn’t speak English.

Zay: Hell, I barely speak English. I’m just saying, I empathize with the poor fella. I know a thing or two about how it feels when you up and disappear with no warning.

Damn, Zay! Too soon, too soon! Charlie makes a face, but in all honesty, it’s a good sign that he can joke about it somewhat casually now. Anyway, now that Skippy is all taken care of, they can turn their focus to the real matter at hand -- Charlie’s care package. Zay claims he put a lot of thought and effort into it, so he better appreciate it.

Charlie: You do remember you’re not the first person to give me a gap year care package. Bridgette’s friends beat you to it.

Zay: Yes, but this one is from me. Therefore, it’s inherently superior.

Charlie eyes him skeptically, but he’s smiling. He starts to unwrap the tissue paper from around the small basket, Zay holding out his hands to take the wrapping from Charlie so he can stay focused on the package. He balls it up and tosses it into the room behind them, which is like another gift for Skippy entirely. The Beagle leaps off the bed and goes gleefully to tear it up.

Charlie gives Zay a curious look, like is there any specific place he should… start, but the latter simply shrugs, gesturing for him to go on. Wherever his heart compels him first.

Might as well go top down, then. Charlie pulls the first item from the basket, a thick novel that looks about as dense as Skippy. He raises his eyebrows, intrigued.

Charlie: Les Misérables?

Zay: I figured you’ll be needing reading materials for this long ass odyssey, and since you burn through books like nobody’s business you need one that’ll keep you busy. And hey, the whole thing is in French, so you can use it to practice your française.

Charlie: Ah, oui. C’est vrai.

Zay: That thing is like a thousand million pages, so it better last at least part of your trip. Maybe you’ll finish it by the time you get back. [ a beat ] Think it would take me my entire life.

Charlie smiles, moving to the next item. It’s another book, though a smaller, thinner volume. Charlie examines the cover, at first impressed…

Charlie: A translation dictionary for multiple European languages...

Zay nods along, smile bright… and just a bit too mischievous to be legit. Charlie keeps reading, his expression going flat.

Charlie: … for swear words.

Zay: See, you’re gonna need that. They’re like sailors across the pond, cussing up a storm. You’re gonna thank me when some Euro bitch tells you to go fuck yourself because you crossed the street in front of his Moped and he nearly ran you over, and you’ll be able to understand what he said perfectly.

Charlie side eyes him, but doesn’t comment. He just moves to the next item, reacting in shock for a split second before it dims to something caught between disdain and incredulous humor.

Condoms. He lifts the pack from the basket, holding it up indicatively and raising his eyebrows. Really? Zay holds up his hands in surrender.

Zay: Now, listen, I’m just covering my bases. This is a care package, I am providing items essential to your care. This way I won’t have to spend my nights worrying about whether or not you’re practicing safe sex while you’re out there exploring --

Charlie: I’m exploring nature. And culture. 

Zay: [ yeah, right ] I will have done my part. I’ve given you all the necessary tools, and now it’s up to you whether you use them or not. I’ve done everything I can do.

To his credit, Zay is doing a really good job of trying to be cool about the fact that they’re not exclusive. That a big part of the reason they’re not humoring the notion of getting back together is because while he’s out there exploring -- whatever it is he’s exploring -- Charlie deserves to be held back by nothing. Charlie just isn’t ready to process it quite yet, so he deflects instead.

Charlie: Is there anything in this that isn’t half a joke?

Zay: You are so ungrateful. But keep going, you’re almost done.

Oh, he just lives to poke fun at him… might as well let him get his fix while he’s still here. Charlie sighs, giving him a look before dutifully continuing.

He pulls the next item from the bottom -- a nice, fresh leather bound journal.

Zay: I know when you’re out there doing all your cultural immersion or whatever, seeing all the sights and things, you’re probably going to have a lot of deep, romanticized, overthinking thoughts. More so than usual, which is saying something. So I thought you could use a place to put all of them.

Charlie: Wow. That’s really nice.

Zay: Mhm. [ a beat ] And I may have left a few dirty jokes in there. Just sprinkled throughout.

Charlie: Of course you did.

Zay: But you know what? They’re in French, which means when you stumble upon them you can use your handy-dandy… [ lifting it pointedly out of the basket ] swear translation dictionary!

This guy. Always thinking. Charlie shoots him a glare, trying so hard to be unimpressed, but his amused smile leaks through anyway. It’s impossible to be aloof with Zay, when Zay is the only person it’s ever been natural to be authentic around.

Charlie: Well, thanks. When I master how to say “f you” in ten different languages, you’ll be the first to know.

Zay: Think I’d be more compelled by that vague threat if you could manage to say it in one language first. [ off his eye roll ] But anyway, you’re not done quite yet. One more.

Charlie furrows his brow, glancing back towards the basket. It looked like that was all there is… but upon closer inspection, Zay is correct. It’s just that the last piece of the care package is much smaller than the others.

And apparently, much more impactful. All of the playful disdain drops from Charlie’s expression, features softening as he turns the gift over in his fingers. He lifts his gaze to meet Zay’s, clearly surprised that he would give this to him.

Zay’s tone is gentler when he speaks again, also having lost the teasing edge from moments ago.

Zay: I just thought… traveling a lot, going to all these different places, you might start to feel kind of… untethered. Or something. With this, you know, I figured it could be like a reminder. That no matter where you go, you’ve got a home to come back to. That there’s something waiting for you here, too. [ a beat ] You know, aside from Skippy.

Charlie lowers his gaze back to whatever it is.

Zay: Plus, you know, can’t act like it’s not a little bit selfish. Gotta find some way to make sure you don’t forget about me when you’re --

Charlie: That could never happen.

Charlie’s dismissal of the concern is swift and secure. Absolutely certain. Like he could ever, ever forget Isaiah Babineaux.

The air is thick with that familiar tension again, the electricity that seems to crop up between them any time they’re in proximity too close or for too long. Where’d all that teasing levity evaporate to… Zay clears his throat, filling the silence.

Zay: Yeah, well, you know. It’s good you acknowledge that. I don’t consider myself forgettable. But the point still stands. It’s like I said, or I guess like One Direction once said -- which literally just made my skin crawl to say out loud -- don’t forget where you belong.

Charlie: Zay.

Zay: Or whatever the lyric is. Not that I’m saying you have to think of this place as home. Like if you find better options out there in Eurovision, then okay, that’s fine. You can be a national defector. 

Charlie: Zay.

Zay: But I had to put some effort in there to defend the honor of Manhattan, because God forbid you decide you want to move to France forever and become like, a French person --

Charlie: Zay.

Charlie carefully drops the basket at their feet and then closes the distance between them -- not to steal another unexpected kiss, but to pull Zay into a hug. Warm, comforting, whatever that final gift was still wrapped tightly in his fist as he holds him close.

Charlie: [ into his shoulder ] Thank you.

He’s not just talking about the care package. Zay knows that. It’s for thinking of him, for the last three years, for everything. All the things he could never put into words.

Zay takes a deep breath and returns the embrace, tearing up but using every ounce of poise he’s got to keep it together. Soaking up the intimacy for all its worth, for as long as he possibly can -- there’s no telling when the next time he’ll get to be this close to Charlie Gardner will be.

So they take what they can get, and convince themselves it’ll be enough. They stay on the balcony and hold onto that embrace until the moment comes to say goodbye, Zay closing his eyes and tucking his head against Charlie’s shoulder.

No rush to pull apart, for once allowing themselves the time to simply be.

INT. HART APARTMENT - NIGHT

All the glamor and fanfare done for the day, Katy settles in on the couch with Maya with a couple of hot chocolates. Maya takes hers gratefully, uncharacteristically quiet after such a long week. After they enjoy their cocoa in silence for a few moments, Maya speaks.

Maya: Are you proud of me?

Katy gives her an incredulous look. Is she seriously asking her that?

Katy: Baby girl, if I have ever given you the impression that I wasn’t, you need to tell me what it was that made you think so so I can never do it again.

Maya: No, it’s not… it’s not that I don’t think you are. I know you are.

Katy: Then why did you ask?

Maya: I meant… would you be proud of me if I hadn’t gotten into NYU? If I didn’t bust my ass so hard to hit the traditional path?

Wonder where all that’s coming from… but Katy humors the notion, completely sincere. She brushes some hair back from Maya’s face.

Katy: I would be proud of you whether you were busking on the streets, or studying medicine, or working at the McDonald’s on the corner.

Maya: Okay, let’s not get too crazy. Neither medicine nor McDonald’s has a place in my future.

Katy: My point is, it doesn’t matter to me what you do or what path you take to get there. What matters to me, has always mattered to me, is that you’re happy. That you’re doing whatever it is that gives you a spark, where you find love, that feels right to you. As long as you’re following your heart, then you know without a doubt that I’m proud.

Maya absorbs that, taking it to heart. She smiles, scooting closer and cuddling up to her mom.

As she sips her hot chocolate, the beginnings of an idea seem to be brewing in her features.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S ROOM - DAY

Many of Isadora’s things have been moved to the new place, but this room still looks like hers. The movie posters are still up on the wall, and her bed is made, ready for her to crawl into if she needs a break from Riley and Maya. One of the benefits of having money -- you can buy double the furniture.

Isadora is sorting through her stationery. She has a scrap piece of paper where she tests all her pens, and for each one that no longer works, she hurls it across the room in the general direction of the bin. Needless to say, there are pens scattered all over the floor. Once the last pen has been tested and neatly put into a pencil case, Isadora puts it into an already full box by her feet. She tries to seal it, but can’t manage to shut it. She’ll have to ask Eric for help later.

Taking a brief break from her final packing, Isadora sits back in her chair and stretches. Her focus drifts to an envelope, with “For Mom” written on it in small handwriting. She contemplatively picks it up, unsure of what to do with it.

She walks towards the bin and holds out the letter as if to drop it in, but hesitates. She looks over her shoulder to her desk.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S ROOM - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

Isadora sits at said desk, her desk lamp the only light on. She’s in her pajamas, but we can see her graduation cap and gown hanging on the wardrobe behind her. It’s the night before graduation, and she’s filled with too much nervous energy to sleep.

On the desk is a piece of paper, blank apart from “Dear Valerie,” written at the top. Isadora chews on the end of a pen, struggling to find the right words. She scribbles out “Valerie” and replaces it with “mom.” Better. Closer.

Time to say what she needs to say -- if she tries, maybe she’ll find it along the way. We hear Isadora’s words in voiceover as she writes.

Isadora, voiceover: I’m not writing this to Valerie. I’m writing it to a hypothetical mom, who happens to be you. But a proper one, one I can talk to about this sort of stuff. Maybe I could’ve talked to you like this with time… I don’t know.

She pauses, taking a deep breath. Already getting emotional -- why is this shit so hard? She closes her eyes and recenters for a second, then starts again.

Isadora, voiceover: My therapist suggested I do this, and sometimes, she makes points. So I’m going to try. Anyway... I’m graduating high school tomorrow. Yay me.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - FLASHBACK - DAY

As Isadora continues to narrate, we see the A class lounging around the black box theater as they wait for class to begin. It’s any typical day at Triple A, nothing in particular going on.

Isadora, voiceover: Honestly, I’m scared. I don’t want to leave Triple A. I don’t want to leave my friends.

Isadora sits with the techies, laughing along with the others as Dylan tells a funny story that we can’t hear. Asher is hiding his head in his hands, bashful, so it’s evident the tale probably features him.

Isadora, voiceover: I don’t think I can cope without them. They’re… they’re my home. I’ve never really had a home, so I don’t know exactly how it feels, but I feel comfortable when I’m with them. Safe. I feel like I belong. And that’s what a home is, right? Somewhere you can be yourself and find comfort. That’s what the A class has become for me. I don’t even know when it happened.

Riley plops down next to Isadora, smoothly joining the conversation. Isadora smiles at her, and just like that, we know when and how it happened.

Isadora, voiceover: I’ve had to leave every home I’ve ever had. None of my foster parents kept in contact with me,  and you only popped up when you wanted with no consistency. So I can’t trust that the others will keep in touch either. They say they will, and I want to believe them, but...

From across the room, Maya beckons Isadora. She apologizes to the techies and makes her way over. Maya smiles brightly as Isadora sits down.

Isadora, voiceover: There’s this thought that’s always in the back of my mind -- they’ll leave. It’s inevitable. No reassurance or promises can convince me. It’s just a fact to me. How can I trust them when every promise you ever made was broken?

Farkle asks Isadora something, but when she refuses to answer, he pokes her arm and pesters her. Isadora rolls her eyes in fake annoyance, a smile clear as day on her face.

Isadora, voiceover: I think that’s why I can’t even think about... whatever it is I feel about Farkle. If every relationship I have ends in abandonment, why would I do anything that could make it happen sooner?

Farkle gets annoyed with Isadora’s pithy commentary, taking his pencil and using it to flick her hair. She swats at him, nudging the pencil out of his hands, but even then, it’s clear she likes the attention. He sneers at her, widening her smile.

Isadora, voiceover: I want to be around Farkle for as long as possible. I can’t let anything happen that could change that. Could make either of us feel uncomfortable, or… different. We’re going to stay friends for a really long time. We have to.

Maya yawns at their antics, clear that she either doesn’t understand or care about their tomfoolery. Most likely both.

Isadora, voiceover: I don’t want anything different with him. We’re good the way we are. It’s not… when I try to even think about it, the idea of something… more, like to go on a date or… or kiss…

Farkle reaches down to retrieve the pencil, shooting a look at Isadora that’s torn between a smirk and disdain as she laughs at him. When he sits upright again, her gaze lingers on him for a long moment, mind going in a dozen different directions she herself can’t even process. Her eyes flit to his lips, just for a second…

But then she looks away, averting her gaze. Almost embarrassed by the thought -- like, Farkle? No, that’s so weird. She doesn’t think that. That’s just ridiculous. Just her mind being stupid again, making her think things she doesn’t want to think.

Isadora, voiceover: It’s not like that. I can’t see him that way. It’s not like with Chai.

Isadora turns to Chai, who sits nearby, pulling her into the conversation. Chai swivels around to talk properly.

Isadora, voiceover: Everything is so easy with her. We have fun together. I feel comfortable with her. I don’t want to let that go while I have it. All of my relationships end in abandonment, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy them before it happens. I’m trying to do that more. Be in the moment, let myself actually enjoy things.

Harper walks into the room, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. All eyes turn to her as she starts off class.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S ROOM - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

We return to the night before graduation, Isadora hunched over her letter as she finishes it off.

Isadora, voiceover: In his valedictorian speech he’s giving tomorrow -- and he only beat me by a couple of attendance record absences, to be clear -- Farkle talked about living for the here and now. I guess… I should think that way about everyone. Even if my friends and I don’t keep in touch forever, I should appreciate them while we do. All my time with you, I was so caught up worrying about if you’d leave me again, but this time I already know who’s leaving and who’s staying. I don’t have to be in a constant state of anxiety.

Isadora folds the paper and slides it into an envelope.

Isadora, voiceover: Easier said than done, but at least I’ve figured out what I’m feeling and why. It all stems from you, but that’s to be expected. You gave me the gift of trauma and I can’t send it back. [ a beat ] When I look out in the audience tomorrow, I won’t see your face. I won’t hear you cheering.

Isadora goes to seal the envelope, but then pauses. She roots through a pile of things on the desk and pulls out her remaining ticket for the ceremony.

Isadora, voiceover: I’ll miss you. I always do, even when I wish I didn’t.

She puts the ticket into the envelope, then licks the gum and seals it. She writes “For Mom,” on the front, then reaches to her desk lamp and turns it off, plummeting the room into darkness.

Isadora, voiceover: Love from, Isadora.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S ROOM - DAY

We return to the present Isadora, who takes a step back, deciding not to throw away the letter. Instead, she places it inside the box with her pencil case. Holding onto it, satisfied.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

The school is officially closed for the summer, hallways unnaturally quiet and lights dimmed to conserve energy. All the baby birds have flown the nest, and now Adams Academy waits, ready for the next crop of young hopefuls to walk through the doors in the fall.

INT. AAA - MAIN OFFICE - DAY

It’s not completely abandoned yet, though. Jack is still there, emerging from his office with his final box of things. When he shuts the door and turns to face it, he can’t help but smile at the new plaque installed outside on the wall.

Eric Matthews. Principal.

As it should be. Jack saunters away from the office, placing his key on the front desk and pushing into the atrium.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

True to his new form, Eric is exhibiting some Jack-like behavior and being overly attentive. He’s hanging back to help Harley do one final sweep of the building, the two of them currently assessing the auditorium. Eric’s up on the stage while Harley jogs up to the booth, the two of them planning to cycle through the lights and make sure they’re all in working order before they call it a day and shut it all down.

Jack spooks Eric when he enters the auditorium, jokingly claiming he knew he’d find him here. When Eric asks why, Jack states because if he were still principal, this is where he’d be too. He drops his box onto a seat in the back of the center section.

Jack: Suppose I’m contagious. Better be careful and watch that work-life balance, Eric. You’ve got a very attractive partner who will need some TLC when he gets back from his hard-earned vacation.

Yeah, yeah, yeah… Eric waves him off, but Jack isn’t quite finished. It’s his last moments in the walls of AAA, and he needs to get in as much egregious flirting with his partner that he never could before. Lots of catching up to do on that front!

​​Song Cue ♫ ♪ “A Tough Act to Follow” as performed by Curtains Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Jack Hunter, Eric Matthews, & AAA Seniors

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

Jack tees up the emotional, climatic number from the underrated musical, sliding smoothly into the romanticized version of their relationship he likes to play with sometimes. Rewriting their history is fun and games, most of the time, because both of them know damn well how false it is.

Jack: May I be bold? I never believed in that whole “Some Enchanted Evening” thing… until now.

Eric: Oh? That so?

Jack: Yeah. The first time I saw you, there was a blue wash on the stage, and they hit you with a pink special…

As if on cue, Harley starts playing with the lights, in fact washing Eric in a couple of pretty shades of color. He rolls his eyes.

Jack: It was like…

Eric, mockingly: It was just like a musical, huh, Jack?

Jack: I thought -- Eric, I thought to myself --

And then he slides into the first verse, seamlessly transitioning into a playful serenade as he makes his way down the aisle. Eric shakes his head, thoroughly amused, as his former colleague does a little jaunt on his way up to the stage. He makes it there in time to spin Eric around him on the line “running rings around any pair, anywhere,” then twirls him close to sway together through the rest of the first chorus.

Then they go through the motions of teaching Jack how to time step as is included in the number, Eric playfully calling for Harley to put him in a pink spotlight once he’s got it down. Jack cheeses a smile, shrugging in his amazing performer victory. Eric eases closer on his lines, pulling him close… he might go for a kiss…

But then he swerves, tricking Jack and spinning around him instead to pull him into a dance. The two of them share a playful and simplistic pas de deux for the duration of the first dance break, up through 3:45.

Then they come together, landing in a final waltz position that allows them to be very close. Seems like now might be a good time for that kiss… Jack raises his eyebrows.

Jack: Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Eric: I sure think I am…

But nope, expectations subverted yet again. They turn to the wings, shouting gleefully.

Jack/Eric: Come on, gang!

Then the orchestra swells, emphasizing the epic feeling as the A class jogs out to come join them on the stage. The stage lights come up to full brightness; the mood goes from a simple, silly duet to a full, classic AAA production. And this feels truly classic, the A class dressed suavely in first-rate dance formal wear. The boys are in sleek, pinstriped tuxedos, the girls in Marilyn Monroe-style white halter dresses that flare out when they spin, and everyone’s got their tap shoes on.

Every aspect is at its highest quality, its most authentic glamor -- including their performances. The A class is truly joyful as they join the performance and launch into the chorus, choreography precise and harmonies better than they’ve ever been. This is their curtain call performance as a class, as it were, and they indeed are a tough act to follow in every sense of the word.

During the majestic choral interlude at 4:45, each of our main cast engages in a spin rotation of some kind. Lucas lifts Riley and spins her around, emulating their twirl during “Beauty and the Beast” with their foreheads pressed together; Zay and Charlie have a spin of their own, naturally more ballet-influenced though equally as romantic when they’re holding eye contact the way they are. Dylan spins Asher after he jumps on his back, both of them laughing, and Farkle has his “spin” with both of his girls, twirling Maya and Isadora out on each arm and then pulling them back towards him. They spin and crash into him with his arms around their shoulders, all of them giggling through the harmonizing.

Then the rest of the A class takes front row for a bit, until they all back into each other in one tight, crowded formation to sing the staccato “we’d be a” and launching into synchronized time steps of their own. Jeff has one brief breakdance spin to help transition between that and the next sequence, as the orchestra seems to spiral into a dizzying frenzy…

And then when we hit the next dance break at 5:15, that’s when we really drive it home. The rest of the class flurries off so only our front nine remain -- Farkle, Riley, Maya, Zay, Isadora, Charlie, Lucas, Dylan, and Asher -- giving them a dedicated, spotlighted ensemble moment as the crew who has carried the show for all three seasons. They ease up to step into the choreography, the boys loosening their ties and unbuttoning or stripping their suit jackets (showing off some swanky suspenders underneath), while Isadora dons one of the jackets just for a little flavor, taking Dylan’s.

And then we’re off, the main crew pulling off some final choreography together. It’s not too complicated -- Lucas is up there, after all -- but it’s the camaraderie that matters, all of them having fun and dancing it out on the AAA stage together one final time. In the final ten seconds of the dance break, they come together in a semblance of a chorus line, doing the remaining choreography down the stage together as if they’re running right up to a curtain call...

Then at the 6 minute mark, as the orchestration spirals again, they make their exit, ushering and twirling each other off the stage as Jack and Eric spin their way back onto it. The music winds down, and it’s just the two of them again, as if the rest of the spectacle and moving production never happened. Eric and Jack look off towards the wings where the class left, slowly backing up until they’re back to back. They let their hands drift down to link their fingers together.

We’d be a tough act to follow, a tough act to follow I know…

Eric pulls away from Jack to absentmindedly continue the time steps, their hands staying together even as he drifts further and further away. When it gets to the point that their touch would break if he strayed any farther, Jack gently tugs him back towards him in a spin, ending in a well-earned, soft kiss.

Without a doubt, there’s no following this class act.

INT. GARDNER HOME - DAY

Charlie’s bags are by the door, the whole Gardner clan getting ready to head out to take him to the airport. But first, he gets in his most important goodbye, kneeling down to hug Skippy and let him lick his face.

Then he gets to his feet, getting one last look at his home. He takes a deep breath, grabs his bags, and follows his sisters out the door.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Farkle is also just about ready to head to the airport, filling up his carry-on bag with anything else he might need. He scans the room -- now emptier than before, as has been the trend -- and spots something on his shelf that makes him double take.

The name plate his father gave him for Hanukkah last year. The thing he hated so much when he first got it, that felt like a deliberate sleight at his passions that didn’t align with the family business. Farkle takes it off the shelf and turns it over in his fingers, more understanding of the intention behind it than he was a year ago. In better mental health, in just about every sense.

Stuart: You probably don’t want to take that old thing with you.

Farkle lifts his head, Stuart coming to lean in his doorframe.

Stuart: With all the cool artsy friends you’re going to make, last thing you need is some lame business-oriented gift your lame old man gave you when he didn’t know how to hear you. Don’t want to give your peers the idea you’re any less cool than you are.

Farkle considers that, looking down at it again. Then he smiles, decisively placing it into his carry-on and zipping up the bag.

Farkle: Think that’s exactly why I should bring it. Don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea that I’m not a neurotic, complicated geek with a whole lot of business.

Stuart laughs, obviously touched that Farkle opted to keep it. Sure, their wires crossed wrong at the time, but Farkle knows his father meant well when he gave it to him. It meant something to him, and so now it means something to Farkle, too. They’re getting better at learning to hear each other -- it just takes effort, and a little bit of time.

Stuart clears his throat, trying to ignore the fact that his room is looking so empty. He explains that when Farkle arrives in LA, one of their staff will be there to greet him and make sure he gets to the apartment okay. They’ve been having stuff sent and moved in throughout the last couple weeks, so he shouldn’t be without anything essential, but he knows he can use any of the family cards in a pinch if he needs to. And he’ll have some of their usual help out there to assist him with things for the first couple weeks, so all he needs to do is ring.

Farkle: I got it, dad. I’ll be okay.

Yeah… yeah, he will. Stuart knows he will. It’s just hard to let your kid go, especially the one who has always been a little bit special. The one you almost lost once already, in a much more permanent way.

Stuart: I hope you know… [ wringing his hands ] you know I’m not great with the emotional speeches. And I’ve never understood… your world isn’t my world. And for a long time, I dealt with that by just ignoring it, by pretending you’d come around to my way of life soon enough and become a mini-me. Obviously, I know how poorly that plan panned out. I almost lost you because of it.

Farkle: Dad, it’s okay. We don’t have to go through all this again.

Stuart: No, we do, Farkle. We do. Because… I just want to make sure you know that I’m proud of you. For everything you’ve already accomplished, and everything I know you’re going to. I’m not great at vocalizing it, and I don’t know that I’ll ever fully get your passions, the things you care about so much. But I respect it. And every day, every day, you make me so proud to be your father. No matter what your path ends up being.

Stuart is choked up, swiping at his nose and clearing his throat. Farkle smiles, stepping closer and pulling him into a hug. Stuart returns it, really making sure he knows he cares.

Farkle: I know. But thanks for saying it.

Their moment comes to an end only when Jennifer pokes her head in the doorway and informs them the car is ready.

Jennifer: Don’t want to miss your flight.

Farkle wipes at his eyes and grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders and letting his mother wrap an arm around his shoulders as he leaves his room. She brushes his hair from his forehead, smiling.

Jennifer: Beautiful boy.

And away they go. Stuart follows them, gently pulling the door closed behind him.

INT. NYU GIRLS APARTMENT - DAY

Lucas carries a couple of boxes into the apartment, Riley taking advantage of her boyfriend’s arms and technician strength while she’s got him. The apartment is finally starting to take shape, furniture pieces coming together in the common area and belongings of Riley and Isadora’s littering the countertops and surfaces here and there.

INT. NYU GIRLS APARTMENT - RILEY’S ROOM - DAY

Riley guides Lucas as to where to drop the stuff, the two of them starting to unpack the boxes. Lucas comments it’s weird that Maya isn’t around and he can’t see any of her stuff -- he figured she would’ve leapt at the chance to stake a claim on parts of the room.

Riley: I don’t know. I’ll ask Isadora, but who knows what’s up with her. You know Maya, she’s about as predictable as an earthquake.

Lucas: Yeah, don’t I know it.

Before they can truly get into unpacking, Lucas’s phone rings -- a pretty unheard of occurrence. He frowns, checking the caller ID, confusion growing when he sees who it is.

Lucas: It’s my mom. [ a beat ] She doesn’t usually call, so I should probably --

Riley: Oh, please. By all means. I’m sure I’ll barely make a dent in this by the time you’re done.

Lucas nods, picking up the call and stepping out into the living area.

INT. NYU GIRLS APARTMENT - DAY

Lucas exchanges a nod with Isadora as she enters the apartment, greeting his mom and asking what’s up. We don’t hear the rest of his conversation, following Isadora as she carries the new box of her things to her bedroom.

INT. NYU GIRLS APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - DAY

She drops her things in the chair by her desk, not sure when to even begin now that living here is like, real… but she’s distracted by something on her unmade bed.

It seems she’s not the only one writing letters these days. It’s a thin envelope, addressed to Isadora in familiar, loopy handwriting. Bewildered, she opens it, retrieving a couple of folded pages of lined paper from inside. While she starts reading, we can glimpse the signature on the back side of the last page -- “Love, Maya.”

Whatever she wrote, it’s completely unexpected. The color drains from Isadora’s face, stunned.

INT. NYU GIRLS APARTMENT - DAY

Riley begins unpacking her first box, retrieving her moodboard and placing it carefully on the bed. Then she retrieves some of her college materials, memorabilia from NYU she got after she finalized her decision.

She looks at it thoughtfully, suddenly seeming a bit less certain than she did earlier in the week. Maybe it’s just in her nature to self-doubt, that no matter what path she chose she’d feel nervous about it… but as she holds her new future in her hands, she’s not one-hundred percent sure it’s the path she wants to take.

She doesn’t get much time to think about it.

Lucas, off-screen: FUCK!

Riley jumps, immediately dropping her things and darting for the door.

Riley: Lucas?!

INT. NYU GIRLS APARTMENT - DAY

Lucas is pacing when Riley finds him in the living area, on the verge of hysterics and nearly hyperventilating. His phone is on the floor at his feet, screen cracked, but it’s unclear whether he dropped it or threw it. Riley isn’t reluctant to approach him though, rushing over.

Riley: Hey, hey. Talk to me. What’s wrong?!

Lucas: It’s over! It’s fucking over!

Riley: What are you talking about?

Lucas: I’m not going. I’m not going to Davis.

Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Riley struggles to catch up, shaking her head in confusion.

Riley: What?

Lucas: The money’s gone. All my money. [ voice cracking ] He’s sick --

Riley: Who?

Lucas: Kenneth! He’s sick, he’s fucking sick, and anything we’ve got has to go towards his treatment. Everything.

Including… all the money he’s earned and saved all year long. The money that was just enough to supplement his scholarship so he could go to Davis, that allowed everything to work out just so in pursuit of the dream.

It’s gone now. It’s no longer his to use, because in their house, what Kenneth needs Kenneth gets. If the choice is between life or letting his only son go to college, the son he never wanted in the first place, the answer is plainly obvious.

Lucas: It’s done. It’s over. [ broken ] It’s fucking over.

All that work, all that hope he’s been building all year long, just for this…

Lucas descends into tears, fully, thoroughly shattered. Riley manages to catch him in an embrace and crumples with him, carefully lowering them onto the floor as he fully loses it. In sharp contrast to the moment, optimistic horns blare, kicking off the instrumentation to our final number of the season.

​​Song Cue ♫ ♪ “High Hopes” as performed by Panic! At the Disco || Performed by Farkle Minkus

Isadora emerges from her room, already dazed from her letter from Maya but bowled over by the sight of Lucas in complete hysterics in their living area. She searches Riley’s face, looking for an explanation… but Riley doesn’t have one. She barely understands herself.

What she can say, though, is that Isadora’s comfort would be more than welcome right now. She nods, and Isadora cautiously approaches, crouching down on Lucas’s other side and gently patting his shoulder. Riley wraps her arms around him and holds him tighter, shell-shocked, resting her chin against his back as he continues to sob.

INT. AIRPLANE - DAY

And when the first verse kicks off, Farkle takes over, deplaning from his flight to Los Angeles. He reaches up and pulls his carry-on from the overhead compartment, smiling politely at the flight attendants as he makes his way down the aisle. The lyrics are fitting to his current situation, the journey of setting off and trying for something great even with no guarantee it’s going to work out exactly how you want.

INT. LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - DAY

On the chorus, he launches into bouncy choreography, energized and full of life as he dances his way through the airport. Other airport goers join in or dance around him as he goes, feeding off his optimistic energy. It’s in total divergence from the mood the last time we were in this airport -- it’s a totally different Farkle, too, one who is in a much better place than where he was at the end of the last year.

And now, he’s walking into the rest of his life.

EXT. GARCIA HOME - DAY

Farkle’s vocals continue to underscore as we continue through the montage, now outside the Garcia house as they pack the car for Asher’s departure to Rochester. Levi closes the car trunk and heads for the driver’s side, Dylan and Asher sharing a lingering goodbye kiss on the curbside. Behind them, Grant gags, earning an elbow from Lily.

INT. GARCIA CAR - DAY

Then Asher jogs to the passenger side, climbing into the car. His family and the Orlandos stay outside to send him off, Levi asking if he’s ready. Asher nods, meaning it.

INT. JFK INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - DAY

Charlie says goodbye to his family at the gate to the security checkpoint. He accepts a hug and a couple affectionate kisses on the head from Eleanor, and a brief but meaningful enough hug with Daisy. Rosie clearly doesn’t want to let him go after their hug, but she does, Charlie playfully ruffling her hair and earning an eye roll to combat the overwhelming emotions.

Then, Ambrose. Charlie and his father look at each other for a brief moment, a million unspoken sentiments passing between them… and then Ambrose gives him a hug. Charlie returns it tightly, with everything he’s got, grateful for the fact that he still gets to even with the truth open and understood between them.

When they pull apart, Charlie gives them a smile. As confident as he can manage, so they know he’s going to be okay. Then he grabs his things and heads for security, leaving them behind. Rosie wipes at her eyes.

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

Eric cautiously enters the vacant principal’s office, assessing it on his own for the first time. Trying to walk the space like it’s his, since it’s going to be in just a couple months. He leans back against the desk and surveys the space, taking it all in… as the camera pans back just enough so we can see the new plaque outside the door, confirming it’s his domain now.

INT. RENTAL CAR - MOVING - DAY

Farkle continues to sing on the drive from the airport to the USC area, looking out the window towards the sight of Los Angeles passing him by. Palm trees. Endless, sprawling freeway. The sunshine -- so much sunshine, it almost doesn’t seem real.

EXT. GARCIA HOME - DAY

Levi starts to pull away from the curb, beginning the drive upstate. Dylan jogs alongside the passenger side as they depart, beaming at Asher and picking up the pace until he’s sprinting. Once he can’t keep up anymore, he lets him go, offering him an enthusiastic wave goodbye.

INT. GARCIA CAR - MOVING - DAY

A perfect mirror of the way he waved at him when they were freshman, when Asher was hiding away up in the prop loft thinking nobody could see him. But Dylan did -- he always saw him. And he’ll see him again, before they know it.

Asher is grinning so hard it hurts, even as a couple tears slip down his cheeks. He returns the wave, just the same way he did four years ago. Then he turns around and releases a sigh, settling into the drive towards the future.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - DAY

As the song leans into the bridge, Zay is working out a calendar of his own, building a new training regimen in preparation for Turner to do over the summer. It’s nowhere near as ruthless and intense as the way he overworked himself in the fall, but even so, it’s guaranteed to be a lot of work. He subconsciously twists a ring on his finger -- though not the one he’s been fidgeting with all year. That one, it seems, is nowhere to be found.  

The grind never ends… Zay takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve. This is his passion, his purpose. The one he’s lucky enough to know in his bones, to not have to search endlessly to find.

He finalizes the routine and then goes to start off right, grabbing his headphones and tennis shoes and leaving his room.

INT. AIRPLANE - DAY

As the suspense of the bridge continues to build, Charlie settles into his window seat on the flight to France. It’s a much bigger plane than the one Farkle was on, full of strangers and no promise of a friendly, familiar face when he lands. Brave as he’s being, he can feel that familiar anxiety creeping up on him, prickling at his shoulders.

Instinctively, Charlie reaches into his shirt, retrieving his cross necklace. Only it’s not just the holy symbol on the chain around his neck anymore -- Zay’s class ring is dangling from it now, too, the final gift he gave him in his care package.

Charlie looks at it, smiling lightly, anxiety receding. He leans back in his seat, continuing to comfortingly twist the ring in his fingers.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY

Farkle finishes out the performance as he makes his way up to his floor, arriving on the doorstep of what’s going to be his home for presumably the next four years.

He pauses for a long moment, taking a deep breath. Then he fishes the key out of his pocket, opening the door and stepping inside.

INT. FARKLE’S APARTMENT - DAY

The apartment is definitely not shabby, which makes sense given the Minkus family is footing the bill. It’s cozy but trendy, having a loft sort of vibe, with a bedroom off to either side of the common area.

The weird thing about it is that it seems… inhabited. There are shoes on the floor by the kitchen -- stray belongings have been left on the countertops. Farkle moves more cautiously, wondering if he’s entered the wrong apartment by mistake.

But then he realizes. Something about those belongings is familiar.

Maya, off-screen: Oh, there you are!

Farkle whips his head to follow her voice, staring in disbelief. He worries for a second if he might be hallucinating again.

But no. She’s real. Maya Hart is standing in his apartment in Los Angeles, dressed comfortably and totally casual like she owns the place. Like she’s been vibing here for ages. She sighs dramatically, flipping her hair.

Maya: I was wondering when my damn roommate was going to show up -- somebody’s got to pay the bills around here.

Farkle blinks at her, jaw hanging open… and then he scoffs, breaking into a grin.

Farkle: Are you serious?!

Maya breaks her aloof facade, unable to keep from mirroring his glee. She nods enthusiastically. She changed her plans, broke from the conventional path -- and now, she’s kicking it here with her best friend.

Farkle: Oh my God!

Farkle drops his things and races across the room, scooping her up into a spin. She cracks up, hugging him back, so happy not to have to end their one of a kind partnership. They’re going to take on Los Angeles together, and it will be fabulous.

Once she lands back on her feet, Maya eagerly pulls Farkle into conversation, starting to show him around the apartment. Their excited chatter and laughter is what takes us out, the camera easing back out through the window…

EXT. LOS ANGELES - DAY

And reminding us of our complete change of scenery. A whole other city. A whole other world. One of many that our mains are scattered throughout, off to start the beginning of the rest of their lives.

I don’t know about you all, but I sure can’t wait to see what happens next.

END OF SEASON.

[tf2-hellhole]

What are the mercs most insecure about, and how would they react to their S/O comforting them about their insecurities?

This is structured a very specific way. The first one or two bullet points describe what the mere is insecure about, and the rest is like a rough-draftish mini story about their S/O comforting them. Some are shorter because I don’t think all the mercs get self-conscious, so I tried to write what I could for them. Also featuring this dumbass headcanon I have about Spy’s appearance :-)

Scout:

Scout has a lot of insecurities about his appearance that culminate in a general anxiety about other people disliking him or not thinking he’s cool. He always wants everyone to think he’s the best, and feels like shit when they don’t. Because of that, a lot of RED and BLU’s insults hit him pretty hard, but he tries to hide this from people.

After noticing this, his S/O sat him down and tried to talk to him about it. They told him about how worried they were about him and his self-esteem. He sat back nonchalantly and denied what they were saying, trying to keep his cool in front of them. But this defensive wall he put up fell apart when his S/O started describing all of his accomplishments and all the things they love about him.

“You really mean all of that?” he asked, his eyes wide.

When his S/O assured him that yes, they do think he’s handsome and athletic and talented and millions of other great things, his eyes quickly welled up with tears and he pulled them into a tight hug, sniffling loudly.

Turns out he’d really been in need of some genuine kind words, and hearing them from one of his most favorite people in the world made him feel a lot better. From then on, his S/O made sure to tell him he did well in a match or his outfit looked great when he looked like he needed it. He started getting them treats and making them little drawings as a thanks for the emotional support.

Soldier:

Soldier doesn’t really have any insecurities. I really do think that he doesn’t give a shit about what others think of him, he just wants to chew bubblegum and kick ass

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate encouragement and compliments from his S/O

He always grins and yells “THANKS, HONEY,” after every compliment.

Pyro:

Pyro usually isn’t insecure, but like a small child, they feel really bad when others ignore them. That usually makes them think the person doesn’t like them anymore.

But they bounced back really quickly when their S/O told them they were just being mean, and it’s not personal. Pyro’s never been one to sulk.

They giggled happily and threw their arms around their S/O, grateful for the comfort.

Demo:

Demo, like Scout, is also a man with a lot of insecurities he seems to try to bury. His mother’s constant beratement has convinced him that he’s a burden to her and that he’s not the best at his job. He knows he’s good, but he thinks he’ll never be “DeGroot good”. He knows his family’s standards are too high but he still feels like shit about not living up to his mother’s expectations. He’s also very insecure about his one eye, and wishes he had both even though his mother is angry he hasn’t lost his other one yet. He also seems to be insecure about his race, as seen in Meet the Demoman. He describes himself as a “black Scottish cyclops”, as if being black and Scottish is a bad thing. Maybe he feels like he doesn’t really belong in either culture, or maybe his color has given him horrible experiences back home, I’m not really sure. So yeah, this man has a LOT of problems that he tends to hide under a confident exterior and drown in alcohol.

Demo gets really emotional when he drinks and cries a lot, so his S/O learned quickly to just take him to bed and get him water when they heard his sobs. But when they approached him this time, they saw that he had barely touched the bottle on the table.

They sat down with him and asked him what was wrong, and he proceeded to vent for about five minutes straight. He had just been on the phone with his mother, and she had been particularly rude about what a disappointment he is. He finished with “And the worst part is, she’s right. I’m a bloody failure,” and buried his head in his palms with a shaky sigh.

His S/O frowned and insisted that his mom doesn’t know what he’s talking about. They brought him into a tight hug and said that everything she said was wrong; He is a very talented, intelligent, wonderful person, and he shouldn’t hold himself to his family’s standards. He wrapped his arms around them and continued to cry into their shoulder.

It’s gonna take a lot of work to help Demo get over these thoughts, but those words did make him feel a lot better.

Heavy:

Heavy often feels insecure about his size and weight, even though he honestly isn’t fat, he just has a thick build and is extremely beefy. Despite this, the other team’s insults often make him still feel insecure. He would often find himself standing in front of the mirror in private and frowning at his reflection.

For a while, he had kept quiet about these thoughts. But one day, he realized that keeping them to himself was probably bad for him and decided to address the issue and talk to his S/O about it. He thought that maybe they and Medic could help him lose weight.

His S/O was horrified by the way he talked about his body. They immediately dragged him down into a hug to tell him that he’s not fat at all.

Heavy was very surprised by these compliments and the sincerity of them. But once the shock was gone, all he could do was laugh softly and wrap his arms around his partner.

He still decided to start eating healthier, but would think about what his S/O said often and no longer frowned when he saw his reflection. His S/O noticed that after this, they got more hugs and forehead kisses from their partner.

Engie:

Engie tends to feel a little insecure about his height and weight. The enemy Scout likes to call him all sorts of names. He usually doesn’t react to this with more than a grumble, but it actually really gets under his skin, much more than people would expect. His parents raised him to be polite, and even though he throws around a couple of mild insults here and there, some of the vicious things that are said to him and to the others shock him. He also has a tendency to keep his insecurities to himself because his father, who he idolized, would often tell him that he’s busy when Engie would try to tell him what he thinks and how he’s feeling.

So one day, his S/O noticed he looked a little distressed as he stared down at his blueprints. They asked him why he seemed so upset. He looked up, sighed, and turned to them to tell them how he was feeling.

As soon as he finished, he apologized for telling his S/O all that, he didn’t mean to burden him with his thoughts. His S/O pulled him close and said that he shouldn’t feel like he had to keep his feelings to himself, and that they would always be there for him. They then assured him that he’s not that short and that he’s perfectly healthy.

Engie turned bright red at his S/O’s words and laughed weakly into their shoulder. “What would I do without ya, darlin’?” he whispered.

His partner noticed that for the next few days, he had a little pep in his step and was more helpful to them and the other mercs. He felt a little more confident after realizing that he doesn’t need to hold his problems in anymore, because his S/O would always be there to listen to him when he’s feeling down.

Sniper:

Sniper, like Scout and Demo, has a lot of insecurities. As a child, he was always bullied for being a weakling and being too skinny. So now, he feels self-conscious about his height and lanky limbs and he always thinks that people are looking at him negatively.  And due to the rough, tragedy-filled life he’s lived, he has a lot of anxiety about the people he cares about leaving his life. It makes him feel more insecure about how others see him.

These feelings had recently been bothering him more than usual when he found himself cuddling close to his S/O in his camper, his limbs wrapped around them and his face against their neck. He found himself clinging to them more tightly as they ran their fingers through his hair and down his neck and back.

They asked him if he was okay, though he didn’t respond. They could tell he wasn’t going to tell them what was wrong, so they reminded him that they love him and they’ll always be there for him, even if he doesn’t want to say what’s wrong.

He muttered an “Oi love ya,” in response. They smiled and leaned down to press kisses to his forehead.

They noticed in the next few days that he smiled and talked a bit more than usual, and spent more time around them.

Medic:

Medic doesn’t get self-conscious very often, but sometimes he feels a little down if one of his experiments fails. He’ll usually sulk around the lab with his birds all over him, too upset to heal anyone or do any work.

His S/O came into the lab and picked up Archimedes, who was perched on top of his head, and asked him if he was okay. He proceeded to loudly complain about his experiment not working.

His S/O laughed at the angered ramblings of this man covered in birds and told him that these things take time and lots of trial and error. They knew Medic knew this more than anyone, but maybe hearing someone he loves saying it out loud would help him gain motivation.

Medic only sighed, pulled his partner into his lap, and muttered a “Thank you”. He smiled when he heard them laugh as some of the birds hopped onto their shoulders and arms.

He finally corrected the experiment that night while chatting with his partner.

Spy:

Spy is only insecure about two things, his laugh and his face. His snort is a little embarrassing for him, but he’s learned to brush off the insults his teammates give him. The thing that really bothers him is his scars. He would never admit it, but when he was young, his performance as a spy was sloppy. He ended up in a lot of melee fights that resulted in scars across his nose, left cheek, and neck that he hates. The scars didn’t deform or disfigure his face, as they were all light cuts, but he hates the pale lines criss-crossing his skin. Only Medic knows, when Spy asked if he could fix them with some kind of medigun modification, but they were too old for Medic to fix.

So obviously, Spy was terrified when his S/O asked to see his face. He quickly turned them down, and they asked why. “You won’t like what you see,” he replied.

They tell him that whatever is under the mask, they will still love him more than anything. He looked down at them and only saw sincerity in their eyes.

With shaking hands, he pulled the mask off his face and waited for the gasp, but it never came. “All that fuss for those?” they giggled before pressing kisses to his cheeks and nose.

Tears of surprise and relief sprung in his eyes and he sighed happily. He felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around his partner and kissed them passionately, relieved they didn’t mind the scars.

Spy spent the rest of the week pampering his partner and ensuring they would never be unhappy again.

[pbandjesse]

We just left the Chris Fleming show. I had such a great time. My face hurts I laughed so much. I am real tired because today was a long day but like. I feel really happy. And we should be home and in bed by 1030 so I'm pretty thrilled with the day.

Sleep last night was hard. But only because it was so stupid windy outside we had to close the windows and that made the room very hot so we were both uncomfy. But when my alarm went off James came and said goodbye and I got myself together for work. We also had some laughs about it being the day after my birthday. And the general joke around Christmas is it's Christmas Adam, then Christmas Eve, then Christmas. So for this whole past week were joking about birthday Adam. Birthday Eve. And so today was birthday Able. Tomorrow will be birthday Cain. Followed by birthday Undertaker. And ending the week with birthday Paul Bearer. We had some major belly laughs with this one.

I had planned on wearing my frog pants but they were more cropped then I had socks to make up for. And I didn't want to wear leggings under them. So I had to pivot. I did really like my outfit in the end but it wasn't what was planned so I was a little rattled for a bit.

But James had made me a bagel and I headed to work with plenty of time.

It was a weird day. Because it was teacher conferences. So we would have a bunch of kids for a half hour at a time. I did a lot of reading, drawing, building with blocks and trains. I honestly had a great time. Though my boots hurt my ankles a little. My blundstones need to be resoled so I'm back to my docs. Which are fine but I can't sit on my feet for any length of time so I may have bruised them. Ouch.

I would draw some of the kids. And talk to my new corowrkers. Who were lovely. But there was no structure today so it was a little exhausting to be on all the time. I did bring some tatting with me and while I was mostly just playing and making rings and taking them apart, it was nice to have something to have in my hands.

We had catering from cafe fili for lunch. I got a falafel. And then it was just a few more hours. Where me and my coworker built a doll house the nursery had gotten but hadnt had time to put together. It didn't take long but was fun. It was a calico critter one so you know it was very nice. And now I want to get one. Maybe this year that's what I'll get into. I just love the detail they put into it. Makes me very happy.

I was getting a bit tired though. I had hoped they would let me leave early. But no such luck.

At 3 they had a staff meeting and so me and one kid were sent to a classroom to make art and listen to JoJo Siwa. And soon it was the last teacher conference. And then James was there to get me.

It was good to see my partner. And after a brief stop at home for me to change into my shiny jumpsuit, we were off.

It was kind of a long drive because it was DC traffic at rush hour. But we had plenty of time. We had a podcast to listen to and when we got to the venue we would take a walk to find dinner. We were going to go to a sit down but then decided they were all to busy and went to five guys instead. Which was perfect honestly.

It was very cold though and my ears hurt. But we got back to the venue at the perfect time. We got a seat not to close to the front but perfect. And this show may have sold out with 900 seats in the theater. Good for Chris. I was very excited.

And it was a lot of fun. I loved people watching while we waited for the show. So many good outfits. And then Chris Fleming finally came on stage and I just felt so seen. Talk about Tumblr, never being cast, not knowing where the states are, the vibes. I learned about him from Tumblr and while he's a little older then me I have felt over time I have been growing with his work. And it was just so great to see him in person. On this, my birthday able.

He got in the crowd and let someone tell him a story and she was hilarious and took us all out at the end. And then he did a song and I loved that. He always uses multi media stuff, pictures and illustrative things. But I was worried he wouldnt so a song. But he did. It was about gerbles costing the same as raspberries. Perfect way to end the night.

My face hurt. But in the best way. And we got back to the car in one piece. James said they had fun too and I'm just so thankful for having a partner that would make this happen for me. And now we are on our way home. I am looking forward to being in in bed. We both work at the museum tomorrow. And there is much to do.

But for now I thank you for any birthday wishes you sent. I love you all. Goodnight!