#<- there’s a tag for all my transition bullshit so you can block it

[vossn]

yo I feel so fucking good wtf

[theravenflies]

My Takes

Consider these

People with personality disorders are not inherently abusive. Yeah, even people with NPD and ASPD (why do I have to say that?) There is no such thing a narcissistic abuse. People with ASPD are not serial killers. They are people, stop putting them down for no reason. People with personality disorders are welcome here. All of them.

Armchair diagnosing is bad. I don't care how shit someone is, if you call them a narcissist, a psychopath, a sociopath, a compulsive/pathological liar, or literally any other disorder that they haven't been professionally diagnosed with, you're a dick. You can't know what's going on in their head. You are not their doctor and are not qualified to diagnose them. And it's just a dick move to diagnose Casey Anthony as someone with a heavily-stigmatized symptom THAT I ALSO HAVE HAD

Stop. Tagging. Your. Writing. With. Disability. Tags. The PTSD tag is nearly unusable because everyone tags their fics as PTSD. Stop it. That space is not for you. It's for us.

People with intellectual, developmental, cognitive, whatever disability deserve to be heard.

As do semispeaking and nonspeaking autistics.

Yes, we do need to listen to caretakers, they're how some people communicate. No one is invalid because they're a caretaker, they're invalid when they're an ableist caretaker.

If the autism "cure" were to exist right now, it would mean eugenics. I don't give a shit if you want it, it would mean eugenics. Society is way too anti-autism for us to trust non-autistics with a cure. I won't get into my rant about the concept of a cure unless asked, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that if that cure is created, it will be forced on people, even those who vehemently oppose it, so it can't exist yet without putting people in danger.

Autism Speaks is shit. So is National Autistic Society. So is the Autism Society. ASAN is on thin fucking ice.

Stop tagging political posts with NPD, ASPD, compulsive liar, or no empathy. You're being ableist and armchair diagnosing. And putting that shit on our feeds.

ABA is bad. Yes, always. All of it. I lost a friend to ABA and I will not budge on this. All pro-ABA people will be blocked, I do not give a shit.

I do not care about syscourse. I am not a system and am not qualified to have an opinion on it.

If you point out typos, grammar mistakes, or whatever when the other person hasn't explicitly said it's okay, stop. You're being ableist.

Stop using TBI as an insult. Yes, I was dropped on my head (okay, I fell, but still,) as a baby. Fuck you too.

This is a safe place for systems and I'm firmly anti-Split.

Autistic and intellectually disabled people are allowed to transition, be queer, get tattoos, drink, have sex, whatever, should they so want.

Mental age is bullshit. He doesn't have the mind of a two-year-old, he has the mind of an adult with IDD.

The posts of disabled people are not an excuse for you to trauma-dump. I don't care what your ex did, that person with NPD wasn't talking about them and it's a dick move to bring that up on their unrelated post.

People should not have to work to live. No one. Ever. Period.

Healthcare should be free

Caretakers need to stop killing their disabled charges

Autism Mommies (TM) are shitty people.

Don't even get me started on Fathering Autism (bitch, you aren't fathering autism, you're fathering ABBY)

Disabled people deserve dignity and privacy. All of them. Yes, even those ones. We're still people. You don't need to know how we go to the toilet.

Fiction does not determine morality and sending people anon hate telling them to kill themselves is a shitty thing.

Telling people to kill themselves in general is a shitty thing. What are you gonna do if they actually do it and you get arrested for manslaughter?

Trans kids deserve to transition, intersex kids deserve to not be mutilated and forced onto HRT when they can't or don't consent, children can and will be queer

Actual sex education needs to be standard

Label policing LGBT+ identities is bad

Devotees and "transableds" are not allowed here

Children and disabled people deserve to exist in public, even if you don't like us

Stop. Saying. Retard. Stop using autistic as an insult. Stop it and go to hell.

I'm pro-choice and I know you don't actually care about fetuses with Down Syndrome, you're just trying to guilt me.

I will reblog with more takes as they occur to me

And, most importantly, listen to ALL disabled voices. All of them. Every single one. We stand together or we don't stand a chance.

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 06x19 Mommy Dearest

“We need to make AI take all of Dean’s face journey and have it write a story that can only be told by stringing those clips together. How many hours are there of Dean’s face? Something something Dean Derangement” “I need to rub one out; too much Dean” 

we had to pause so Spouse could shave his face which is a normal and important thing to do at 9:51pm on a Friday night and not do what he actually said he was going to do

“Smoldering ass” “Fuck that bitch up” ““$3? It was $2.50 in college at the local brewery” “Did she just murder his ass? I don’t remember” “Almost like one of the horseman things” “LOAD ALL” reading the shell equipment

“That’s one hell of a dehydrated load” “Took you all week to make 5 shells?” “laughed at the Cas in his ass joke” “They said ass a lot”

Rewound to the Cas ass comment

“If he’s in his ass, what’s the bottle you need to rub to get the genie out?” I believe it’s called the prostate

“This vampire lady’s voice is similar to Meg’s voice” “Death by cop? But I guess Cas got her so it worked out” laughter “sure” “That was a weird transition” “Little zoom out effect wasn’t my thing” “worst nickname ever. Smitey McSmiterden?” laughter

“They’re making poop jokes” “He’s blocked like a blocked bowel” That was mean

“Yeah” “Had to go federal” “they could have made that joke so much better. It was funny but it could have been better. It was in the delivery” “Cas’s hair isn’t as on point today so maybe that’s why” “This is a weird episode” “Dick” “the fuck is going on?” “they’re lying to this guy about the ambulance” “oopsie” “Oh yeah, she touched everything” “nice” “Only the chosen ones survive?” “What a mess” “I wonder how much oxyclean Hollywood uses everyday” “Ant people” “Who hates Jefferson Starship that much?” “They’re not going to bother with the scene? Just leave a ton of bodies behind” “nice” “I like the reflection in the glass shot.” “Couldn’t use a one-syllable word? It’s like two syllables and two words. It doesn’t flow off the tongue very well” “Way to get locked into a cell so easy” laughter “blood splatter” “Cas is covered in blood. He can heal instantly but doesn’t care about his clothes?” He looks good covered in blood

“Seriously?” “this got real weird real quick” “it’s some imagery of them when they were younger. They had this momentum going then a brick wall” “This is a weird way to look at Castiel without hair. His hair is going to fall out and become bald” “This is weird as fuck” “That was dark” “That bitch gets what he wants” “He’s missing his head. Rigorous is one way of wording it” “since when are shotgun shells made out of brass?” “How many diners do they walk into in this show?” “I’d love to know how many unique diners they set up” “That’s not what the name tag says” “What’s wrong with dragons, Dean? Dragons are awesome” “Speaking of dragons, they don’t go back to medieval times” “Just a few huh?” “Oh yeah. I figured one of these kids were bad in the car” “Fuck that shit” “quick pan off to the family. oh no! Blood splatter. Yay!” “Oh yeah we’re supposed to fell bad because of the mirror or whatever”

Laughter

“That was good. I didn’t see that coming” “This is very dramatic. They did that all in post though. They kept just zooming in” “It was all digital zoom and bullshit” “Thanks, bro” “Not going to thank him?” “Man, you’re a fkn angel of the lord thing and you let these two little dudes boss you around?” “Hello Crowley”

“Oh not yet. I thought he’d be right there” “Come on. Zoom out a little bit.” “Come back. I need to stare at your throat some more” “The face” “Ohshit” “What’s he going to do? Doctorize all these people?” “He just needs the briefcase and stethoscope” “oh mommy” “Shit”

[narashikari]

Kari, I'm offering my own two cents on that post. While I think it's fear-mongering, I don't think it's "trolling", so to speak. As someone living near Marawi and was away from home at the start of the siege due to work, the fear in my heart for my parents' safety was kinda paralyzing on its own.

Then there's the thing I experienced as a ten-year-old child.

I've experienced things with terrorists even if they were false alarms. As a 10 y/o child, left at home, suddenly you hear people panicking and running away from homes because, apparently, a terroristic group would launch an attack, my parents could not rush home because people were on the streets, running away for their lives, blocking any vehicles from passing through.

As a child, then, I didn't know what to do. My parents could not risk me going missing so they opted to tell me to turn off all the lights in the house and just be quiet. [It does not help that I had an older brother that died during infancy, the one that was born before me]

Thank god it all turned out to be a false alarm, but I don't think I came out of that situation the same.

Now, I'm rambling.

Basically, I think the post wasn't trolling but was expressing fear that the VP's Angat Buhay NGO could be a start of a new terroristic group. I think it's disingenuous to invalidate that fear. Even if I think that the person was too early to cast judgment on VP's new organization.

I knew people that were kidnapped by these terroristic groups and knew relatives that had gone through more than I have. It's one of the main reason why I opt not to engage in political posts because I know I'd be upset with posts that invalidate the fear I felt then, or at the very least, posts that, I feel, invalidates the fear I felt during that time.

This is my two cents, I hope it's alright with you XD

Sorry.

Sorry, I just don't buy it. I'm sorry for what you experienced, but... I really cannot stand the bullshit anymore.

The second they mentioned the NPA... No. Just no. It's red-tagging, pure and simple. This has been a tactic I observed among pro-Marcos and pro-Duterte people, not just online but irl. Literally anything done by the opposition party/ies or dissenters are communist in nature.

The government literally had a list of universities and colleges that were supposedly communist recruiting grounds. Gee, what a coincidence that all these schools are liberal-leaning (and generally anti-Marcos and anti-Duterte) and encourage student activism...

I'm from one of the red-tagged universities and I can tell you... four years of university and not once have I heard a single whisper of communist ideals in my studies, from my professors or fellow students.

The one who red-tagged Adarna House is our chief of intelligence. Strange that he did it after they had a very successful sale on Martial Law storybooks, huh? Oh, wait, the Inquirer even called it "expected".

And now, they're saying this is a possible terrorist/communist plot... right after she announced that she was transitioning her operations to an NGO?

These aren't isolated incidents. This is coming from the government these people support.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Try to fool me a hundred, a thousand times? You're just a fucking troll.

I see what they're doing. And I'm too pissed off now not to call BULLSHIT when I see it.

Ftr, Leni has been given the highest rating of the Commission on Audit for three years in a row. Even under Duterte's government they couldn't deny that she was transparent and didn't misuse her office's funding.

[lesbian-deadpool]

Take A Slice

Part Five: The Tape

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 1,208

Warnings: Smut and 18+ content (Daddy kink, filming sex, strap-on, some dirty talk ig), drama, alludes to blackmail.

Summary: Sometimes you regretted your decisions. This was one of those times. You could just tell.

A/N: Smut and 18+ content is marked with --- at the beginning and end. Bold and italics = Text Messages.

Ko-Fi

18+ ONLY.

(Not My GIF)

***

It had been around four months since your discussion with Natasha. And things were going great.

Better than great, in fact.

You had gone from being together, to you now having a girlfriend.

It was a strange transition for you, you won't lie. From not knowing what that kind of affection truly felt like, to being thrust into such a caring relationship with a stunning woman, who had a sex drive that could rival Zeus'. Granted, she was your Professor. But it wasn't like she was giving you 'A's for a particularly good orgasm. In all honesty, you were lucky if you could even get a 'B', in her class.

And yet.

Even with how perfect, it seemed to be.

You still couldn't help but wonder what you were going to do to fuck it all up.

But right now, you couldn't think about that.

You had much more important things to be focusing on.

---

"That's it, baby," you husked, "Smile for the camera."

A soft, open-mouthed smile shone on Natasha’s face. Her chest, rising and falling, with her breathlessness. Before the smile dropped, and she moaned instead.

Her tits were bouncing as you fucked deep into her. Hair a mess and hands holding your ribs.

"I wanna ride you."

"You think you can handle that?" you teased her cockily.

Natasha cried out. If you weren't so in tune with her by now, you would have had half a mind to think that it was painful. Her head nodded quickly- Despereatily.

"Okay. If you think you can."

Now laying upon your back on her soft bed, you greedily drank in the sight of her sinking down onto the strap attached to your hips. And she didn't take it slow, either. She sat on that thing as if, if she didn't have it inside her, right at that moment, she would just combust.

The moan that poured from her swollen lips was deep and nothing short of sexy.

"Oh, that's it," you husked, "You gonna make yourself come like that, honey?"

"Yeah," Natasha whispered, leaning down to press her lips against yours. Before repeatedly moaning into your mouth when she started rocking her hips against yours.

You continued to film. It was your idea after all, so why wouldn't you?

As she threw her head back, hands resting on your chest. The filthy, wet slapping sounds flowing into the speakers, letting your phone pick up everything. Including the groan you made when Natasha's hands moved up to fondle at her perky breasts, now rotating her core against your hips, as she intensely eye fucked the camera.

"Y'know. If teaching ever falls through for you, Porn is definitely an option."

She laughed at you. Then her gasp came, "Oh God, I'm close."

Meeting each and every one of her thrusts, you helped her reach her screaming high.

Not once, but twice.

It felt like she had just run a mile, when she flopped down onto your chest, panting against the sweaty skin.

"Jesus Christ. You're amazing."

"Tell me something I don't know." You smirked.

Your only reply being a light slap to your chest, both of you awaiting your next round.

---

***

It was Saturday. Which mean you spent the night at Natasha's place, after "date night". Which almost always consisted of making -or ordering- dinner and watching a few movies, before retreating to bed. More often than not, to continue the night, in the most pleasurable of ways.

There was a pep in your step as you walked to your car, pizza in hand. When you felt the telltale vibration of your phone in your pocket.

You had gotten a text.

From an unknown number.

Which read.

Have you seen her?

Confused by the semi-cryptic message, with your eyebrows scrunched slightly, you replied.

I think you've got the wrong number.

I've got the right number.

This only further confused you.

I really don't think you do.

Y/N Y/L/N.

How the fuck do you know my name? Who gave you this number?

You should block them.

You'd be an idiot not too.

No longer moving, you stood on the sidewalk, your car just in front of you. All the while, staring intently at your phone, waiting to see if another message came through.

That's not important, right now.

You were in the midst of typing out your reply of, 'like hell it is!'. But before you could even finish writing it, another message from the anonymous person came through.

But what is important, is if you've seen her.

Yelling sounded in the back of your brain, only growing louder as these texts went along. Telling you to "BLOCK THEM!" Like what has already been stated, you would have to be an idiot not too.

Seen who?

Yeah.

You were an idiot.

Big time.

Miss Natasha Romanoff.

It felt like your entire world dropped, a cold sweat beginning to break out across your skin. You could feel your heart beating in you now sickly stomach. And yet. You never dropped the pizza.

Then, rationality came back to you.

She was a teacher.

A very attractive and popular teacher at that.

This was probably just some creepy student in her class or one that fancied her. Or both.

Yeah? You asked them, I'm in her Psych class, of course, I've seen her.

No.

I mean, have you seen her?

And then they sent a clip.

You dreaded opening it. But all the same, you opened it, after a few seconds.

If you had thought that your would had fallen apart before, it was nothing compared to how you felt now.

Thank God, your phone was still connected to your ear-phones.

Loud moans flowed into your brain as your jaw dropped, unable to rip your eyes from the screen.

---

There she was. Your Professor. Your Girlfriend. Tits bouncing as her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. Getting fucked, like it was the thing she was born to do.

You almost thought it was something else. Until your voice played in your ears.

"God, you're such a little slut. What are you?"

"Oh," she cried, "I'm daddy's little slut!"

---

Then it ends.

And you're greeted horribly by another message from the mystery person.

That was just a teaser.

Anger flowed through you.

No.

No.

Not anger.

This was so much more than anger. This was rage. Curated from forged flames, and directed at one person.

Deciding to skip past all this bullshit texting, you called the person who somehow managed to get ahold of your privacy. Your girlfriend's privacy.

It went straight to voice mail.

Which only angered you more. You could practically feel the steam coming off of you, rivalling the smoke coming from the BBQ a few houses away.

Now's not a good time. I'm in class.

One that I don't have to fuck my teacher to pass.

You're gonna be in a fucking hospital when I get my hands on you. Now. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! AND HOW DID YOU GET THAT?!

Now, now, Y/N. Is that any way to talk to the man with such information?

Are you fucking blackmailing me?

Your jaw ticked as you awaited their reply.

Only time will tell.

***

Take A Slice Tag List: 

@wannabe-fic-writer​, @ohfuckno​, @uglipotata72829​

Permanent Tag List: 

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro, @thelastavenger-3000

[salamencerobot]

All deltarune reactions and spoilers for chapter 2 under the cut! After I post this if I have any extra reactions they will be tagged deltarune and deltarune spoilers, so feel free to block those tags!

Ok so 1 fuck toby fox where the FUCK IS THE HEART also I swear someone called that the knife was gonna be used for pie eating. Also how did I not sleep in MORE from that, I should have gone into a food coma

Hiiii susieeee nice to see you!! Wanna go exploring again?!

JDHHDHSD JESUS CHRIST DONT JUMP SCARE ME LIKE THAT I'm glad I can see your eyes still, that's a good thing to keep.

FUCKIN WAIT UP AHHH

it's gonna open to nothing isn't it. We wait what, a year? For just a cliffhanger? That'd be hilarious

HOLY SHIT LYNXGRIFFIN CALLED NOELLE JOINING US THE FUCKING READ OF A LIFETIME

.. ok both of these answers suck. Do I go with be gay do crime or do I go with the love triangle answer. Also damnit no noelle joining us.

SHE LOVES YOU YOU STUPID BUTCH DINOSAUR

Goddamnit.

Ok VERY COOL TRANSITION SCENE.

RALSEI!!

God the pixel art is very well done. Good animations.

"enemies you spare will be recruited to our town" god could you imagine if deltarune ended up being a town building game? Funniest shit.

GOD WHAT IF IT TURNED INTO LIKE POKEMON MYSTERY DUNGEONS?? ID FLIP SHIT DBDGGD

Very cute rooms

Aw we gotta leave? Sadge

Fiiine school project time.

OH SHIT LYNXGRIFFIN CALLED THE DARKROOMS BEING ALL OVER TOWN!! GODDAMN!!

WAIT DID NOELLE GO DOWN THERE?! OH NO

Oooh gween!!

NOELLE!!

Ohhh what the FUCK is that bullshit Nuh uh I'm not being no puppet what the fuucck

Oh thank god you're here ralsei

...are all of the dances based off of charlie brown? Cause I recognize ralsei's, but can't figure out the rest

Mk so in the second part of the story we fight across a long area where we are taunted by our enemy only for the platform we're on to run out of room and dump us in the trash. Again, Undertale parallels here. Wheres mad dummy

Oh Susie is REAL touch starved huh

Oh ffs I wanted Susie time.

Oh fuck yeah Noelle team time- ah. You're really gay huh.

I'm at the meetup scene and GOD I'm glad that alphys and Undyne got most of the pining done off-screen fhdhhdhdh JUST KISS ALREADY DAMNCCHN

Oh good job not getting caught ralsei

Oh dear he's not liking the digital dark world huh.

SUSIE DONT EGG THE FUCKER ON WE'RE GONNA BE HERE FOREVER IF HE DOES THE PUZZLES

YOOO FUR BOY WITH THE FULL SUIT LETS GOO we're ignoring birdboy YOOOO RALSEI POP OFFFF

Mmmh I hate birdboy. Also rip lancer.

Hm... Yeah aight Noelle I get your crush, Susie has the buff rescuer aesthetic.

Oooh shit the dream lie backfired hdhdhdh

AWW NOELLE NO SHE WUVS YOU

Oh that's fucking soft. You gave her a fucking pencil and she just said "aight yeah she's safe"

JDHDGDH THE BACKFIRE OF A FUCKING LIFETIME. God imagine if the screen had been bigger, and Susie looked over, saw the ferris wheel, and just knocked Noelle out so she didn't have to deal with that.

Jdhdh

Awkward fucking teens

AWW NOELLE!!! THAT'S SO SWEEEET!!!

Aight imma need a poster of these two to go next to my alphyne one.

AWW WAGGING TAIL? FUCK THATS CUTE

...

...

...

Aight I'm killing bird bitch. Gonna have fucking turducken.

'oh the good part of the dream is over' AYYYY

Oh please don't try to confess bird bitch... Please..

Oh thats even funnier. Jdhdhdhd THEYRE LESBIANS HAROLD

YEAH CHOKE HIS BITCH ASS OUT HOLY SHIT!!!!!!! DELETE HIM!!

Rip ralsei.

Aight I think this is the final fight so I stocked up on cd bytes.

..oh what the fuck did she do to Noelle.

GET HER ASS SUSIE!!!

...?

Ah. Yeah that... That would be an issue huh.

Hey I noticed the robot but you are a narcissistic bitch I assumed it was a giant statue

I've learned from Steven universe that non-human lesbians can always save the world. Let's do this.

Oh god what are these dumbasses doing. This better be fucking sick.

Oh that is just a clusterfuck huh. I'm glad they didn't try to make it look cohesive it's just a fucking mess I love it.

Wait holy shit she's mettaton mixed with white diamond what the shit?m

WAIT SHES REALLY WHITE DIAMOND WITH THE MIND CONTROL AND EVERYTHING

Ok I'm loving the old super punch out style of fighting it's really fun but I also suck at it.

8-bits fuck off

oh please dont--THANK YOU RALSEI

Ooh it's so important it gets a Capital Letter

HOLY SHIT THE EYE PATTERNS FROM CHAP 1. also I get the moral lesson you gotta balance fiction and reality

I swear to god if Susie kisses her cause Noelle will think it's fake when she wakes up I'm gonna throw hands.

Thank GOD.

Mk fountain time.

HEY SUSIE WHAT THE FUCK DONT SLAP ME

Hm. I like how it encourages you to go to your town, it give it a nice calm wind-down from the adventure.

JFHSHDHD SUSIE YOU EAT CHALK WHAT DO YOU THINK SHES TALKING ABOUT YOU HOOLIGAN??

..why is Susie looking up?

...that is just unessecary. Ow. Out the window, really!

JFHSHDHD MOM SWORE

... why did nobody check on kris for that time? That's just sad

I can't really enjoy chilling with Susie, I just feel sad that nobody checked up on kris.

Aaand she's out.

And then I had that thought, that only blackout drunks and Kris can have. "did... Did I do that?"

OH AGAIN? REALLY??

Oh that's really not good. Uh. Uh oh. That's a Problem. I'm sudden-NO!! FUCK OFF FLOWEY YOU BETTER STAY BACK IN UNDERTALE YOU FUCKER!!!!

ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT.

..was that speech I heard at the end of the credits song?

WAIT SEVEN CHAPTERS I THOUGHT IT WAS GONNA BE ONLY 5?? ooh we getting dlc after the 3-5 pack drops

[rpbetter]

Wha-? Now people are labeling muns who just play devil's advocate and don't have strong feelings either way about what other people write? I didn't sign up to be a 'proshipper' just for not caring what other people ship. I don't care about a lot of things. Why the label for this particular thing? It sounds so dumb, like a way to yank in more muns who just want to mind their own business into drama and 'sides'. I agree with your post, I'm just angry at the rpc for being babies. And the labels...

I'm always angry at the RPC for being babies and the labels, it's alright, Anon.

I believe (and I could be wrong, because for the most part, I tried to stay out of any and all fandom-related things for years and years - I just want to enjoy the movie/shows/books, I don't need or want to discourse about that shit, you know?) that all of those terms originated in fandom, outside/predating transfer to the RPC.

I know when I encountered them initially, it was in fandom, not the RPC part of fandom...and at that time, it was just the label of people being "antis." A label they gave themselves by, literally, asserting themselves as "anti-character here-."

It's been my supposition that the RPC's transition to being more canon character and fandom-based than OC-preferred led to an organic transfer of more fandom-specific terminology (and behaviors). As places like twitter and tumblr became hubs of fandom and RPCs, they brought tags to the table. While that is an absolutely wonderful thing, it also means that we all started out tagging things with good intentions, only meant to be tags. You could tag something, pulling from a random fandom here, "anti-Daryl Dixon" from TWD and the plethora of fans who love that character could block it. It was a peacekeeping measure at that state, not a flag for discourse and drama.

Tag-language influencing and becoming an organic part of language, in general, is a whole other, though fascinating, topic, so I'm going to just leave that there. The point is, it happened.

And unfortunately, you quickly got people popping "anti-whatever" in their bios and blog descriptions. Not as a means of allowing others to avoid it, but as a means of making it really clear that they despised the character, fandom, ship, whatever. With purity culture 3.5 hitting in earnest, the reasons for despising those things became raised stakes. It wasn't a basis of simply disliking them anymore - you needed a dissertation how this thing was morally objectionable and destroying the world. Anyone disagreeing with you, by that logic, is morally reprehensible themselves and must be stopped. Raised stakes.

Actions cause reactions, too. People started making it clear that they were "pro" whatever, too. These became opposing designations, and honestly, I'm not sure who started up "proshipper" first. I only know I saw it being used negatively first, that doesn't mean it happened that way! What I've seen has been the entire ship/write/like what you want crowd being given that label negatively and taking it up themselves in the same way people are given to take up a lot of things they've been negatively called.

By "what I've seen," I don't just mean witnessing it happening in the wild lol it happened to me, as well. I reblogged a post about how shipping wasn't activism, and got an anon informing me that I was a disgusting proshipper (every time I reblog that, I get at least one person popping off in my RP inboxes, actually, it hasn't slowed down any). At which point, I, too, was very much like, I'm a what now? Yes, I am okay with shipping? What the hell is this person even on about?

So, it's my theory that in response to the anti movement, some people stated that they were "pro-ship and let ship" and thus...we got to be "disgusting proshippers."

Regardless, it absolutely is just another way of labeling people in order to single them out and/or keep feeding drama, yes.

And again, I feel you. I know labels, good, bad, reclaimed, whatever, seem to give a lot of people a grounded sense of identity, but I've always been uncomfortable with them. I don't understand the need for them, even if I get that they make others feel a certain way. I just want to feel the way I do, be the person I am, and have that person engaged with based singularly on my actions.

It's alright if someone else wants to freely label themselves in a way they feel is positive (though, I do wish that younger people, especially in the queer community didn't have this batshit pressure to do so, and correctly, the first time), but they've always felt threatening and restrictive to me.

As such, having people create and bestow a label on me for the purpose of designating me a problem is kind of an uncomfortable realization of why I feel negative about them. I don't like it, and it's part of why I don't like the bullshit of making this distinction in DNIs. By doing so, they're literally as hell singling people out...with a negative label they gave them for the criminal act of feeling like it's absurd to police fiction, instead, expecting adults to behave like adults when engaging with fiction and each other.

It's honestly forcing hostility and drama, when the point of being ship/write/like and let ship/write/like is not having that hostility and drama. It's merely a live and let live mentality, that's what y'all are attacking! The labeling is a rotting cherry on top that is so indicative of this same, legitimately problematic, behavior that goes on in the extremism I talked about in the post you referenced. It's...gross, let's just say that.

And I'm really sorry that it makes you upset, too! You don't have to label yourself, you can reject that and refuse to engage with those using it in this negative way. That makes me feel considerably less annoyed and disturbed! I'll totally joke about it, as I do fall into the designated parameters of being both "proship" and "anti-anti," but I don't actually label myself thus. I only consider myself a reasonable adult who has better and more serious shit going on than to worry about what fiction someone else is writing or enjoying.

Just...do be aware that, like myself and others, you're likely to be labeled if one of these hostile parties sees you reblog the "wrong" thing or make the "wrong" statement. You are being labeled in those DNIs for your viewpoint of wishing to avoid absurd drama. So, I'd advise, for your peace of mind, to try to avoid blogs stating that they're "anti" anything but drama/bullying etc., or who feel it necessary to put up those DNIs. You are who they're talking about, they just don't know it because you're not labeling yourself or being otherwise obvious about it :/

Try your best to avoid that changing, you deserve to peacefully enjoy RP! As disturbing as it is, as rightfully upset about it as you are, maybe it's a good thing you found out? In this way, I mean. Without someone bringing it to your inbox hatefully. Now you know what it means, that they mean you, and you can stay away from it! Try to look at it that way - there will always be people weirdly desperate to make their drama hobby everyone else's problem, you can only make an effort to stay out of it if you know what to look for, right?

I hope any of this made you feel better about the fresh hell that is the RPC lol keep doing you, Anon! You're not the problem, infantile drama mongers are <3

[artekai]

Okay, so I had two dreams tonight but I can only remember the second one and I wanted to share it because it was weird and mildly interesting. It’s a bit long, but here it goes.

CWs: Character death and, uh, slight gore? I don’t know, I never know how to tag this stuff. There’s mentions of blood and some implied body horror stuff going on. And something like murder.

It took place in something like a Minecraft world (in a premade Christmas town to be exact) and it was from Dojima’s POV. Somehow, I could tell it was a Dojiruki roleswap even though it didn’t have any actual roleswap elements aside from Dojima having a Persona, which I could only infer from the ending so it doesn’t really count.

Anyways, I (or I guess Dojima) was exploring the town and the time and the weather were all messed up. I mean… It was Minecraft, so it was a flat world, but there were still time zones, so you could be having a sunny afternoon at home while your neighbors were having a rainy night. The seasons were all messed up too because we went into a storm, but, when we turned back, the neighbors were having a summer day when at the beginning of the dream it had been spring, and the narrator (who didn’t show up for anything else) said some scientific sounding bullshit about how areas on the borders of storms experience temporary summer. Oh, and also the sky looked mechanical because whenever it moved, changing the time and weather for everything under it, the transition effect was pixelated, but it looked pretty with the gradients.

Anyways, I’m getting hung up on the aesthetic instead of the actual plot. So, after we arrived to the spot where day changed into night, we continued walking until we saw a shadowy figure slithering out of a house. It was so quick it was hard to see, especially in the dark, but we decided to follow it, so we ran towards it and followed it past a bunch of houses until we arrived to what seemed like a toymaker’s workshop. It was really big, the lights were off, and everything around it was quiet and empty, so we could’ve perfectly broken in without anyone noticing, but the doors weren’t actual Minecraft doors but blocks placed to look like doors, so Dojima was unable to open them and we had to go back home. (We couldn’t just go around? Well okay then)

The next morning, I figured out that what happened is that, apparently, Takuto's powers had gotten out of control and the shadowy figure we saw was Azathoth. You know how werewolves go feral and transform during full moons and can’t control themselves for one night? Well, that’s what happened to him. It was a full moon and Azathoth took over his body and went absolutely nuts, wanting to scan the cognition of everyone in town in a single night, going house by house entering their minds and leaving without being seen. That was a difficult task, of course, and Azathoth was draining all of Takuto’s energy and keeping his body hostage to be able to slither and jump around as quickly and smoothly as he did. Takuto stayed in the workshop, uselessly trying to fight back against Azathoth, but the strain was too much on his body so he ended up bleeding to death. I didn’t see it, but I know that’s what happened because the newspapers all used the phrase “dry counselor” to describe his corpse, which was um. Well okay.

I also know that Dojima had the same powers as Takuto because he was like “okay, now I know how to prepare myself so that doesn’t happen to me when I awaken to my powers” and I also had a feeling that this was all in a fic someone else was writing because I couldn’t believe they had killed off Takuto and now he and Dojima wouldn’t get to meet.

[the-resurrection-3d]

@fanboysstillexsist

youre really cool, i have no idea how you write so much! how do you do all that? youre so productive its inspirational!

Before I get into actual practical advice (because you activated my writing tutor trap card), I should note that I include all discursive types in my big ole wordcount spreadsheet— so essays for class, feedback letters for work (just passed 22k on that!), all that goes in alongside “proper” creative writing. The real bespoke take is that the hard lines we’ve constructed around these different genres of writing actually make us worse writers because it inhibits us from understanding how our skills can transfer from one genre to the next (even though getting traditionally published does require you to write in multiple genres— not just the book itself, but the cover letter, the query letter, the synopsis, the proposal, the pitch tweet…) 

A lot of my spike in productivity has been caused not only by getting more comfortable with failure, but getting more comfortable with all my discursive types. Sometimes it’s hard to feel like anything but the actual act of writing new prose is productive, you know? But that’s not true.

Sitting down and writing some reflections on my writing process or on a story or even just a character I like is productive and meaningful work, and so is sitting down and writing bullshit one-offs with my characters that I know aren’t going to make it into the final product, and so is sitting down and writing a shitty vent poem in my Notes app that no one else will ever read. I know I talk about The Channel Quote a lot but it’s just so fucking true. 

Failure, too, ties into this. You write more when you’re comfortable with sucking. It’s just facts. I’m not going to act like I never feel anxiety about my work’s quality on a first draft, or I never cringe while I’m writing, or I never avoid a project because I feel bad about it (kicks my mermaid story under a rug), but overall, once you give yourself permission to write bullshit, the world is your oyster. 

This is where we get into more actionable tips: 

Zero drafting is a good method for this—I don’t even use quotation marks in most of my drafts anymore because it slows me down, and if I have two different ways I want to phrase a sentence, I’ll literally just use slashes and parentheses to include both rather than spend time mulling over which one I like better. 

Summarizing an idea you’re having and then letting that naturally transition (or not!) into actual actions, descriptions, and dialogue is also a good way to get yourself started— a lot of my brainstorming sessions begin with “thinking of [short sentence of two describing the scene]” before spiraling out into an actual outline/zero draft of the scene.

Alternatively, I’ll just focus on whatever it is I find interesting— a lot of my drafts are pretty much exclusively dialogue (“dialogue spines,” as I’ve seen them called), with maybe a few tags or gestures thrown in here and there so help me visualize the scene later. 

The other method I use, if I’m having a block, is to just write out something that could never be “good.” “Penis Inspection Day” and “Why The Fuck Can’t I Drink In The Hospital?” are two recent examples of this — I mean let’s be fucking real, no one actually expects a fic about sea monsters having weird spiked vacuum girlcocks or Ricky from Trailer Park Boys causing someone to miscarry because he drank her amniotic fluid to be “well-written.” The concepts are so weird and extreme that the actual quality of the content becomes secondary, allowing me to focus on having fun with the dialogue and character interactions. If I can’t be a good writer, I can at least be an amazingly bad one. 

The point of all these tips is to make yourself as comfortable coming to the page as possible. Even if you’re never as “productive” as me (again, keeping in mind that my ‘creative’ output is just one fraction of my actual writing), if you’re having fun and being gentle with yourself when you start writing, then writing will get a lot easier. It’s like a muscle; you’ve gotta exercise it. (This is where that “write every day” advice can be useful, if you’re someone who needs help just building up the habit of sitting down to write, although I much prefer the “I won’t go [x] days without writing” method.) 

The only other thing I want to mention here is freeing yourself from the idea of “completion.” @bettsfic has a good write-up of reframing the idea of a creative “project” over here on her newsletter, and it gave me some vocab to what I’ve been seeing in my own writing over the last couple of years. As betts writes,

i used to see publication as the birth of the project, and writing it akin to a long gestation period. then i saw publication as the death of the project, and its life was lived in its drafting. now, publication seems irrelevant to the project. the confines of a story and its many revisions are also irrelevant to the project. the beginning of a story is not the start of the project and the end of the story is not the end of the project. the project is larger than the story, its revisions, its publication, and its eventual readership.

So as an example, my “grammar of violence” series of Luca fics fit into a larger project about intrusive thoughts, about how to handle these intense, obsessive thoughts about hurting the ones we love, about what, if anything, these thoughts say about us as people. This project, of course, is a direct continuation of the themes of “but I am home,” and BIAH itself fits into a larger project about how the narratives I’ve grown up using to try and make sense of my reality have continuously failed me, and how I find myself deeply troubled by my own ways of writing pain. 

The EddTord fic I mentioned in my Ao3 tag game is the final work in the trilogy that “but I a home” is the second part to, and that fic took me three years to write— it began as a response to the “beach” prompt for BaconCola Week 2018, spiraledspiraledspiraled into a 16k monstrosity I never finished even as I finished the rest of Eddtord Finale, and then in the last weeks of 2020 I had a fucking meltdown and cranked out a 3k hybrid memoir-fanfiction all in one night. Every sentence that wasn’t a direct quotation from another author needed some kind of revision. There are still sentences in it that I think are kinda iffy. It’s still one of the best things I’ve ever written. 

To return to betts,

[. . .] now that i know what the project is, i have more patience with myself. it doesn’t bother me to rewrite a novel from the beginning, or to scrap novels altogether, because the story isn’t the project. the project cannot be diminished by cutting words, sentences, paragraphs, entire chapters. the project does not have a product. the project cannot be published. the project is in the practice, in dragging the impossibly large into clear, acute existence, so you can see it. so you can see the very center of what you thought was an unknowable thing.

I hope that’s helpful! 

[kingsofneon]

👀👀👀(´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`)

Thank you for answering my omegas anon sorry for late response. So many great ideas. Love them all. Poor darlings maybe they will be happier once they're bonded. I um wouldn't be bothered by more details on noncon body modification from science facilities I think that's really hot. They definitely got some stuff to increase fertility and make heats longer or more frequent. Mannnn birth control implants are a thing what if they had reverse ones that just released hormones all the time to induce permanent heat. Probably like, expensive and not great for the omega plus caring for them would be a hassle so only the super rich alphas do it.

Orgasm control devices...

I couldnt decide between same hat meme and this one so take this shitty meme edit made on my phone djjfjf. The way that your first ask had me talking about literally the same fucking thing (re: birth control except its heat control instead bc like SERIOUSLY YELLS!!)

Also like omfg. Dude I was the one who left your ask for like. two years. You are Not the slow one here. 😂

(I'll still put this under a readmore tho, is just polite);

Most of this is pretty hypothetical bc I want Marco to be a bad guy but not The Bad Guy you know, and Ace was only in his facility for a little while so no-one had really taken an interest in him, but god.

Heat control is probably one of the most common things Alphas buy; it's the easiest way to train an omega, after all, and even if an alpha doesn't ask for it I can absolutely see trainers facilitating false heat in order to make transitions easier. That long in a fever, in desperation, even if your needs are met? And also the way it'd fry your brain a little too, beyond natural point. ALSO I think in heat the body adapts a little easier. Alphas get knots, why don't omegas have shit - so training them still takes place during heat, at some facilities, especially if the omega's planned to be in heat for more than a week.

But god the omega, being touched, forced to stretch or tied in positions, having hands on them that just ignore what they beg for, the suffocated scent of betas or well-blocked alphas, bitter and useless.

OKAY ALSO WAIT ON BONDS okay okay okay I read this one fucked up fic that is so good and I can't remember it right now and then one of my ChatsTM was talking about mating bites and bruh, omegas and collars; most rich alphas will have more than one omega, because it's more fun, because it's easier, because it shows off how good you are, but bond bites are a pledge; sharing them around without everyone agreeing just makes them bitter and weak and some other worldbuilding stuff that i have for the fic that I'm not going to spoil so most owned omegas wear a collar; no chance of a bond bite when the alpha can't bite the mark, and it leaves them with an easy place to put a name tag. A return to x if found notice that's tight and hard to get off and might run on my bullshit sci-fi fingerprint system, I've just decided snickers.

And on the fucked up fic; to nip an omega's bondmark, to not let them mark you back, gives them an almost-heat anyway. A way to try and entice a permanent mark with whoever comes next. Some alphas only want one omega, and if they're going to be picky, giving them a nip (at like a natural facility) is enough to get that always-wanting, insatiable hollow. Not heat, but a facsimile. Where you can think and hate and want even though you know you didn't want before.

Omegas, of course, are not told about the problem that arises when it's just a nip. It's worse, when the stubborn ones think that it really is biology. That they like all of it, but especially when there's an alpha lording over them. And when they accept it and beg; well, twofold, that the bite fixes both problems.

god inducing a permanent heat though......you'd likely only want one, and I bet they burn quickly, like a flame. So much fun for parties though, and so wonderfully sensitive. Always so desperate to be knotted and bred that they're pathetic and shaking and easy to convince about whatever depraved thing you want them to do. I bet there's specialised toys and bondage for permanent-heat omegas, and alphas have to sign a legal waiver stating they won't return them even after they're useless

Slick as well, they probably need to be hooked up to an IV or something else to make sure they're hydrated, and I bet any other omega they own is "asked" to take care of their fellow; just imagine how they'd stare and be so thankful it wasn't them, but trained to be jealous, to want to serve. I can imagine crueler alphas also using it as a point, as well, to not use anyone else at the time but still leave them teased; you don't get anything or you have to take everything.

ORGASM CONTROL DEVICES ARE LITERALLY MAKING ME YELL THO OK OK. Going into vaguely cybernetics here but oh my god if we just (handwave) and say science has some bullshit that can be a bit like Law's power, specific and low-danger, and the sex trade is so lucrative, everyone is always trying to find ways to make it more fun, to find the next big thing to sell and get rich off of; I want to think these are new, and like heat control, are non-removable. Even if the omega escapes or is taken away by the revo it's dangerous to get it removed....Some having trigger phrases, or buttons, or things they have to do before they're allowed to cum. Omegas with trigger phrases & their alphas falling asleep, well-satiated, or brushing their omegas off, and their omegas pained in frustration, trying not to howl or cry, having been worked and worked and worked to the edge, and having the sensation but none of the release. Always tempted to touch but knowing they can't do shit, held by the order of someone else

If an alpha chooses to do it for days......fuck, passing their omega around to friends or toys and leaving them sobbing, humping a pillow as slick just drips out of them so wetly, so much; just sensation and no relief

Noncon body modification though I just.....I really do have so many thoughts about that, some vaguely gory and some vaguely horny and some that definitely veer between the toy that make me poke my brain, but I will absolutely admit that I'm weak for any sort of lowkey forced feminisation, and I think gender in this world would be different anyway (because like fuck ok primary gender would be alpha / beta / omega, which means gender roles like male / female would be so different, and also I still can't decide if I want alphas & omegas to be So Close that no-one knows what someone will present at (re: genitals) except if they're a beta bc betas only have that sorta afab / amab specific body types but also I'm just a dumb enby and I don't Want to have that in my porn spin off but then I do wildly want a spin from the fic with....it's gender play but in this universe it's omega-play I guess lmao where Marco gets called an omega and treated as one, as for service, and Ace & Sabo get Shanks involved to fuck him, and THAT particular idea has the really nice image of Mar refusing to beg for Shanks to knot him until Ace/Sabo ask him too, but Shanks' knot is already half-formed so when he presses in, too hard and too harsh, Marco almost passes out, and I just think! that I like that mental image nicer if Marco has a cunt! BUT ALSO LIKE! sufferrrrinnng)

anyway rant over back to body mods, I bet it can happen Literally whenever. Omegas leaving the facility are like. Yay. Changes will no longer happen without warning, I will be told- but that is Absolutely not what happens. There are at home kits for alphas who like a personal touch, who want to press needles against their omega's tits and watch them get bigger and more sensitive.

And facilities! Facilities have all the medical gear you'd ever need, if you'd like to have your omega's gag reflex taken away - or even, added back. I will........confess.......I saw this really awesome art of a robot sextoy au esque vibes where they could disconnect the limbs and manipulate them easier, without them being able to move or fight back...Very sorry 😔😔

(but how easy is that for storage, if you just want your omega for sex, and not housework? take them out when needed, put them away when not....

ANYWAY god i hope ur still kicking around anon djhdjhd sorry this took me forever, im forgetful and Always Tired dkjdkj //cry

[illshowyourhurricanes]

Heat Wave

This drabble turned 2000+ word one shot is brought to you by this fantastic request from @the-blind-assassin-12​:

This took forever and took a completely different direction than the one I had planned. Thank y’all for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Image prompt 8: Ryan Brenner x reader (related to Bah, Humbug and In the Line of Fire (part two) which can both be found in my masterlist)

Rating: PG for slight language

Word count: 2167

Tag list: @obscurilicious​ @the-blind-assassin-12​ @something-tofightfor​ @logan-deloss​ @lexxierave​ @madamrogers​ @yannii04​ @gollyderek​ @carlaangel86​ @bicevans​ @maydayfigment​ @thisisparadisemylove​ @malionnes​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @crushed-pink-petals-writes​ @delos-destinations​

Follower event tag list: @luminex3​ @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes​ @witchygagirl​ @breanime​

If anyone would like to be added to/removed from my permanent tag list, just shoot me an ask!

When you’d left home at the crack of dawn for a job interview— which had gone surprisingly well thanks to Starbucks and an extra shot of espresso— you’d needed something far warmer than the lightweight blazer you’d grabbed on your way out the door. Now, just before noon, you had shed your blazer that had proven to be insufficient earlier, yet you still felt hot in just your sleeveless blouse and pencil skirt. You thought a perk of moving farther up north would be the mild, temperate climate. It was your first Indian summer, though you’d lived in the area for a year, and you had decided it was bullshit. What had happened to the cool, crisp autumn you’d fallen in love with a year ago?

When you pulled open the heavy glass door of the post office, a cold blast of air  but your skin, and you stepped inside quickly. The air conditioning felt absolutely fantastic, and you briefly wondered if people would notice if you lingered for awhile, just to soak up the cool temperature, maybe until you were even a little chilly.

You smiled at the thought as you arrived at your box, smack in the middle of the wall of post office boxes belonging to other people. There was a wall of boxes on your left, another on the back wall— yours on the right—and there were more just down the corridor. You rummaged in your bag to find the tiny brass key for P.O. Box 257, tucked away in a zippered compartment in your purse. After the third time it had fallen off your key ring, you decided to hide it away in a more safe, reliable place. 

After locating your key and unlocking your box, you stared at the unexpected abundance of envelopes that had piled up over the last week.  Who knew so many people still send paper mail?  It took two times reaching into the small box to pull out every piece of mail, mostly tuning out to be junk or credit card companies offering you low interest rates. Only then was the box empty— almost. Retrieving the one remaining piece of mail at the bottom of your box, you smiled as you realized who it was from, locking the box back before giving the postcard a good look. It was rare that Ryan sent you postcards.

They were usually letters tucked away inside envelopes, words hidden for only you to see. The decorative side of the card displayed a vintage style print, a drawing of a wooden fence leading out onto a beach of white sand bordering sky blue waters. Welcome to Orange Beach! it boasted in a series of light green block letters, fading into yellow. 

You flipped the card around to see Ryan’s familiar handwriting, a mixture of print that sometimes led off to a few letters of scrawled script:

Just passing through. All the sunshine brings you to mind. See you soon. 

You could hear the cadence of his voice, the dropping off of the G at the end of certain  words, the slight twang that tugged at his pronunciation of vowels. Your smile grew into a grin as you glanced at the postmark, reading September 3rd. Your eyes widened into saucers as you recalled today’s date. Ryan’s postcard must have gotten lost in the shuffle of the mail circuit— the post date was over two weeks ago. 

You shrugged it off and secured your key back into the small pocket on the inside of your purse just before tucking Ryan’s postcard inside. With an armful of the rest of your mail, you braced yourself for the assault of the inevitable sweltering  heat.

 Fucking Indian summer. 

                                             ***          ***          ***

Ryan was just passing through after a rousing five days in Virginia,  where he’d met up with Georgie. Where he was going next was still on the table. Instead of restless, he felt fulfilled, still riding the high of busking with his close friend, both of them splitting the money they’d made halfway. He and Georgie played well together, and it usually paid off. He’d shedded his coat and hoodie, managing to stuff the hoodie into his pack and hang the thicker layer around one of the straps of the large bag. His ever-present guitar case, the black leather wearing off around the edges, was clutched tightly in his right hand as he paused near a crosswalk. Squinting in the sunlight, he was grateful for the small shadow the bill of his cap provided.  With the transition of the streetlights from green to yellow to red, he crossed the street and walked one more block to reach the post office. 

He was low on stamps, had just two left to be exact. Ryan kept in touch with a handful of people and had a flip phone, but he preferred writing letters. They felt more personal, gave him the time to think about what he was saying and write them in a way that he’d stumble on while talking. There were also times when his phone would be dead for days. 

It was mid-July, the thick of the summer, and he could feel beads of sweat forming along his forehead, though it was before noon. The old government building was once red-bricked, but had been washed with white in order to modernize the place. The upkeep added a nice touch as well, neatly trimmed bushes contrasting against the bright paint. He pulled at the metal handle on the right of a set of non-paned French doors, the temperature of the air inside bringing instant relief. The building was eerily quiet, the only sounds lowered voices at one end of the building, the light scraping of paper against metal as patrons picked up their mail. Turning toward the sounds of conversation, he walked down the corridor and turned with the layout of the building. 

He was surprised at the line of people waiting, a few solitary people in casual attire, one or two dressed in clothing appropriate for the workplace littered between. There was a mother with a stroller holding a sleeping toddler, an elderly couple, and one woman alone in front of him. He nodded politely as you turned your head to the side in curiosity in order to see what type of brave soul had come up behind you to patiently wait for their turn. You saw a man who was about your age, and offered him a friendly smile, turning around to face him.

Ryan instantly found you absolutely stunning. Your smile brightened your entire face, your features all striking, as if they’d been hand-picked specifically for you.. 

“Good morning,” you said, greeting him casually as if the two of you had been acquainted a long time ago, old friends. “How about that heat wave?”

Ryan chuckled, surprised at your unaffected manner and genuine friendliness. He noticed the way you surveyed his clothing, eyes quickly glancing to your guitar case before lifting to  his face again. Your expression hadn’t changed or faltered a bit, that smile still in place. That was a rarity, something Ryan hadn’t come across in quite some time. 

He returned your smile with a slightly crooked smile of his own. There’s some thin’ about this woman, he thought to himself.  She’s authentic. A good heart, a kind soul. A fire burning within her. Ryan thought that if she was burning bright, he’d volunteer to stand a bit too close to her flames and would pay no mind to the sharp sting of a burn. 

“Mornin’,” he replied good-naturedly. “I think I’m used to all sorts of weather, but then a heat wave hits and reminds me I’m wrong.” Ryan looked at you with warm eyes, spoke with a low drawl that made you weak. “Name’s Ryan, pleasure to meet you.”

                                          ***       ***         ***

It was eerily quiet when you got home, but the silence was just what you needed. You felt like you needed about three showers to wash away the sweat and sticky humidity that clung to your skin, and the only thing that delayed you was the kicking off of your shoes and dumping your purse and mail onto your couch. 

After your shower, water temperature lukewarm at best, you felt human again, revitalized. You’ve mulled around ideas for dinner in the back of your mind, made a quick detour into your bedroom, and returned to that couch you’d tossed your things upon, holding a shoebox. Opening the box as you sat and balancing it in your lap, you reached for your purse, pulling out the postcard you’d received, albeit two weeks too late. 

Lifting the thick stack of envelopes that were quickly outgrowing their box, you slipped the postcard picture-down into the bottom of the shoebox. Smiling softly, you brought your legs up, crossing them like a child, and plucked several envelopes from the middle of your stack, devouring the letters that you’d read dozens of times before. 

Y/N, 

Made a quick decision to hop off in New Orleans before heading off toward Chicago. The train station here is directly connected to a streetcar line that leads straight into the French quarter. Maybe I’ll take a ride next time. Maybe you’ll take one with me. 

I thought about you most of the day, the way you’d stop to listen to a three-piece zydeco band in Jackson square. I imagine how you’d look with powdered sugar on the tip of your nose from beignets, and the slow nod of approval when you taste real, authentic gumbo. 

I heard the roaring of a streetcar clacking over its tracks and knew that I needed to write to you that very  second. I miss you, Y/n. Wish it was me & you riding that streetcar to wherever it would take us. 

                                                                                           Ryan 

Have you ever been to Vegas, Y/N? Beyond all the neon lights, the ritzy hotels and big-name shows, the electricity of the city shifts. Contrary to what other people might think, it’s a great place to play music, beyond the strip, along a street lined with benches and a slight change of pace..  more of a scenic, less chaotic feeling. People stop, and they listen. Really listen. Sometimes I’ll get accolades instead of money, but that’s what it’s all about— telling stories with hope that people can enjoy them and relate.

It’s time for me to go out for the day. Can’t wait until you’re the audience I’m singing to. 

                                                                                          Ryan

Y/N, 

I’m just writing to tell you that Memphis not only has the best bbq, but also the best peach cobbler. Georgia’s got nothing on Tennessee. 

                                                                                             Ryan

Sometimes, when you really thought about it in retrospect, it was wild. In the space of time that you and Ryan shared as a unit, an entire human could be born; the biology of. growing from cells into a living, breathing, viable human being. An entire new life could be created. 

And throughout the last nine months, you, with Ryan’s help, had created a new life of your own. You had a boyfriend, one who was absent far more than he was around, yet managed to never weaken his connection. No matter where in the country Ryan’s trains took him, he’d write. There was no way for you to write back to a man with no address, not in a manner of space and time anyway. But in your new life, none of it was liner. The only time that mattered was when Ryan was there with you, and that was when he got your letters. You always responded, saving your words to give to him next time. 

Next time. You slid folded paper back into envelopes, a grin breaking into your face as you heard the sound of heavy boots over your wooden porch. Dropping Ryan’s letters back into the shoebox right on time, you replaced the lid as the door opened and shut. There was a soft thudding of his guitar case being set into a corner, and you stood to pad through the house in bare feet. 

You met Ryan in the kitchen, watching him down almost an entire cold bottle of water. You adored this man who had needed to buy stamps while stopped in your town, stepping into the post office you’d been waiting in, all by chance. You had never been happier than when Ryan was home. 

“Good afternoon,” you greeted him. As he set aside his bottle of water, you rose to your tiptoes to give him a kiss, his lips chilled from the water. Snaking your arms around him, you leaned back and looked at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “How about that heat wave?”

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found - chapter 17

No warnings.

Well maybe some cute Tyler and Ovi ;)

Tagging: @alievans007, @hemmyworthy, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y

A week later he waits across the street from Hargrave school. Leaning back against the driver's door of a rented SUV.; arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses covering his eyes, smoking a cigarette. He'd given up the habit months ago; being in the hospital for an extended period of time successfully cleanses your body and mind of all your vices. But with his desire to drink again returning at a furious and alarming pace and his med use just slightly above normal, he had figured having one awful habit wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

He remains expressionless yet his as eyes are continuously working. Observing the surroundings, scanning the sidewalks and the road for anything that seems suspicious.  So far nothing seems out of the ordinary. Drivers behind the wheel of cars idling along the curbs, a lone maintenance worker watering the gardens out from. There didn't seem to be anyone...besides him....casing the place. No cars making multiple trips around the block. Just normal people going about their day: parents waiting to pick up their kids, a handful of early release students trickling through the front doors.

His cell phone vibrates against his leg and he fishes it from the side pocket of his cargo shorts.  A smiling tugging at the corners of his mouth. A  picture from his wife: a picture of their baby girl in a brightly coloured sundress and matching hat that one of the maids had gifted her with.  And at that moment it seems so surreal; the realization that he was a dad again.  Some days you're just going through the motions;  moving from one moment to the next without even thinking about what you're doing.  Other days you're sitting in a quiet room or lying in bed and out of nowhere  you think 'wow'.  This is one of those times. Where it actually hits him: how far he's come, the good things in his life that he has accomplished, how the guilt and the regret of the past aren't nearly as painful as they were even six months ago. A year ago he'd been hoping to catch a bullet. Now he was desperate to escape catching one.

A text message comes next. Asking him if everything is okay.  It's a covert way of asking if he's seen anything troubling or if he's caught wind of any brewing.  But he wants to tell her that everything is awesome.  That she and their little girl are awesome.  That he's sorry for getting them mixed up in his bullshit.  That he can't wait to see them.  Maybe it's the worry that something will happen to them if he's gone for too long; that he'll get back to the house and all hell would have broken loose and his wife and kid missing. Or maybe it's the reality that the only time he's truly happy is when he's with them.  That they are the ones who are keeping him sane. From returning to old habits and old feelings and the desire to just end it all.

He messages back. Telling her that everything is fine.  That he's just waiting for the kid to get out of school.  That they're going to go somewhere and talk, just the two of them.  That he'll be home before dinner is on the table. That he loves them.

The bell rings, signalling the end of the school day.  And within minutes the doors are bursting open and students are flowing out; a tsunami of giggling girls talking in ridiculously high pitches,  guys with too much swagger and not enough common sense to realize the ladies aren't falling for their fake macho bullshit,  jocks picking on the weaker kids.  His own high school experience had been normal enough; teetering the line between jock and serious student. But there'd been higher education or career that had appealed to him.  He'd always been a tad reckless. Restless.  And he needed something with action and adventure. That would keep his body and his mind busy.  And he'd enrolled in the army only two days following graduation. He'd  always been a naturally gifted athlete; tall, broad shouldered, strong. And passing basic training had remarkably easy.

Eighteen years seemed like a lifetime ago.  A lifetime filled with more action and danger and risk of death than he could ever have managed.  His own demons making a transition from full time solider to mercenary alarmingly seamless.

He slips his phone back into his pocket as he sees the kid coming down the stairs; alone, eyes downcast, his thumb hooked around the straps of his backpack.  He's taller than most of his classmates now.  And seems so much older than that kid he'd rescued out of that filthy apartment in Dhaka. He's been through a lot. Seeing and hearing things that no kid should ever have to. The terror of being kidnapped followed by a stranger busting you free, but not before they'd slaughtered an entire room of people. Tyler imagines that he would have been confused; his eyes wide as he stepped over bleeding and broken corpses, following a complete stranger into yet another unknown and terrifying situation.  Everything had gone wrong after that. Tyler had never had a job go that bad.  There had been injuries and death left behind, but his duties had been fulfilled quickly and successfully. Walking away with no injuries and permanent scars but nice healthy pay checks.

Everything that could go wrong did. A fucked up series of horrible events that came to an end on that bridge.

****

Ovi stops when he sees him; startled at first, his head moving from left to right as he looks for the usual drivers that pick him up. Then a broad smile brightens his entire face and he's practically skipping across the street. Once again throwing this arm around Tyler and embracing him tightly.  A year ago he'd hesitated to even touch the kid. When Ovi had clung to him on the stairs at Gaspar's.  And he remembers the initial shock of the moment, and how'd he cautiously brought his hand up to the kid's head.  It had been a long time since he'd had to comfort someone. He didn't form personal relationships with the people he helped.  He simply got shit done and went on with his life.

Unlike a year ago, he doesn't hesitate when returning the embrace.  The kid is desperate for affection. He craves it. Needs it.  And maybe somewhere deep down inside, Tyler does to.

“What are you doing here?” Ovi asks, as Tyler tousles his hair and the kid steps out of the hug.

“Thought you could use the change of pace. Thought maybe we could go somewhere and talk.  Privately.  I know it's not easy to get some things out when there's so many ears around.”  The guards unnerved the kid instead of calming him.  He was skittish when they were around; never able to fully relax.  

“About what?”  

“I don't know. Things,” he takes the final drag of his cigarette and tosses it to the ground, extinguishing it with the sole of his shoe.

An eyebrow hitches. “You smoke?

“Always have. Just had to quit for a while. Just don't tell my wife, okay? It wouldn't go over very well.”

Ovi nods, moving around to the other side of the SUV as Tyler pops open the driver's side door. Tossing his school bag into the back seat and ready to climb in when a soft, beautiful voice captures his attention.

“Hi Ovi.”

Tyler notices the way the kid's eyes widen,  the way he looks both terrified and excited that the young woman has actually spoken to him.  She's cute; tall and willowy with shimmering black hair pulled into two braided ponytails. And he grins as Ovi stutters and stumbles over his words, struggling to get out even a simple hello in return.

“I'll see you tomorrow right?” she inquires hopefully, and he nods in response and then holds his hand up in a small wave of farewell before climbing into the SUV.

“Is that her?” Tyler asks, watching through the rear view mirror as she bounces off with her friends, but not before she glances back over her shoulder, getting in one last look. “Is that her?” he asks. “The girl you talked about last night?”

Ovi nods.  

“Well done, kid,” he grins, as he fires up the engine.  “Well done.”

****

They slip into  booth tucked into the back corner of a  nearby deli.  The flow of traffic is light; two customers sitting right at the corner and a third near the hallway the leads to the washroom, and while Ovi orders from the menu, Tyler opts for black coffee. He sits facing the entrance. Always cautious. Feeling that now familiar weight of the gun that rests on his hip.  

Ovi chatters on about school and upcoming football tryouts; sipping a vanilla milkshake and nibbling from a heaping plate of french fries smothered in ketchup.  The excitement and the hope for a calmer immediate feature drips from every word. He's optimistic. Enthusiastic.  Tyler has provided him with a level of safety and security that he hasn't feel for weeks. Probably even months. Spending most of his days since the extraction nervous about possible retribution, constantly looking over his shoulder and wary of everyone and everything.  

“Remember how you were telling me about looking into colleges away from home?” Tyler speaks now, as Ovi delves a little more eagerly into the french fries.  “You said you wanted to get away from here once you got out of high school.”

Ovi nods, then his eyes narrow. “You're not going to try and talk me out of it, are you?”

“Naw, mate. I can totally understand wanting to get away. Wanting to escape. It's why I joined the army once I was old enough. I needed to get away from some bullshit too.”

“From your parents?”

“From my dad. My mom was already gone.  She died when I was twelve. Car accident.”

Ovi gives a sad smile. “I'm sorry.”

“My old man and I never got along. Even when she was still alive. I don't think he ever really wanted kids, to be honest. He wanted my mom all to himself and then I came along and totally ruined that. He's resented me for a long time.  I've always been a burden to him. Someone that cost him too much money and clothe and put a roof over his head. He hated that my mom and I were so close.  Not because he wanted to be close with me. But because I took my mom away from him.”

The emotion chokes at him. Sitting heavily in his chest and tightening his throat.  In the same way in at that night at Gaspar's when he'd told Ovi about his failed marriage and the death of his son.  And he takes a swig of coffee to wash down the mixed feelings of bitterness, grief, and anger.

“So I totally get why you want to get away.  I don't think anyone could blame you. Especially after everything that you've been through. Sometimes we have to leave everything behind. Can't have much of a future if you're spending your whole time  living in the past, know what I mean?”

Ovi nods.

“You ever thought of Colorado?” Tyler asks.

“Like in the United States?”

“Unless there's another Colorado I don't know about.”

“Isn't it really cold there? Doesn't it snow all the time?”

“Not three hundred and sixty five days a year. It's supposed to be beautiful there. Mountains, lots of fresh air, tons of things to do. That's where Esme's from. A little place with about twenty five hundred people. Her family is still there.  Mom and step dad, brothers, a  sister. Tons of nieces and nephews.”

“So now you do have a family,” the kids says, and Tyler nods slowly.

“I suppose I do, mate. Would be nice to meet them, though.  I've only ever seen them through video calls or talked to them on the phone.”

“So they haven't met the baby then?” Ovi's smile fades.  “That's really sad.”

“Yeah, it is. They deserve to meet her. And she deserves to meet them,” he sips his coffee.  “We're moving there. When all this is over.”

It isn't finalized; they haven't made any concrete plans.  But the other night in bed he'd gone onto the 'net and

looked up houses and job prospects and Esme had seemed warmer to the idea. He can see himself settling down there; buying a fixer upper with a view of the mountains, enough land to have chickens and goats (her idea, he felt they'd shit everywhere even more than chickens) and room for their kids to play.   They had just enough money between the two of them in savings that they could afford a decent down payment and still have a bit in the bank for a rainy day.

“You are?” Ovi's eyes widen.  “You're going that far from home? Why?”

“It's time to move on, I guess. She gave up everything in her life to move to Australia and take care of me and get me back on my feet. She misses home. And I owe it to her to give her that piece of her life back.”

He also lays out the harsh truth.  That he's made a lot of enemies along the way; stepped on a lot of toes. It's naive to think that the actions of the past don't have ramifications on your future.  Now that whoever is behind the recent drama knows where he lives, it wouldn't be safe to go back.  And he couldn't put his family through that.  Instead when everything was over, they'd take their passports and leave. With nothing more than the clothes on their backs and a few personal items. It wouldn't take long to get on their feet; he wasn't worried about not being able to find work or support his family. And if that meant living out of cheap motels until they found a permanent place, it was what he was willing to do.

“But you guys will be even further away,” the kid laments.  “What if I need you? You'll be even further away.”

“Not if you come with us.”

Ovi blinks.  “Come with you?”

“We don't have a lot, mate.  It won't be the life you have here.  But at least you'd have a life.  You won't have to be a prisoner in your own place. You won't constantly be looking over your shoulder or seeing something or hearing something that makes you think of what happened in Dhaka. It won't be easy. It's going to be hard for all of us.  But that's better than what you've got going on here.”

“You really want me there? With you and your family?”

“We won't be able to put you in an expensive school like you're in now. There's no way we could ever afford something like that. And we definitely won't be getting a place like you have now.  You're going to have to slum it.”

“I don't care about that. None of that matters to me.”

“You'd be safe there. Safe with us. Most importantly, you'd have people around you that actually care about you. Who worry about you and want what's best for you. You got a shit deal in this life, kid.  You've got an old man that doesn't give a fuck about you and put you in all this bullshit to begin with. But you don't have to stay stuck in all of this. And we're worried what might happen to you if you do.”

Tears sparkle in his eyes, yet a broad grin spreads across his face. “You want me to come and live with you?”

“Like I said, we can't give you much. But we can give you a real home.”

“Like a family,” his voice is a near whisper.

“Now nothing's set in stone, mate, so don't get your hopes up yet. There's some things that need to get worked out before we can even start making arrangements to take you anywhere. I still have to go and talk to your old man.”

“My father?” he's perplexed. Maybe even a little scared.  “Why?”

“Well I can't just take you out  oh India. That's kidnapping.  And kidnapping a drug lord's son? Didn't we just go through that a year ago? There's no need to repeat that.  I need to go and see him. Have a man to man.  He must have at least ounce of humanity left, right? There must be some part of him that cares about his own kid.”

“He thinks of me the same way you do. More like a thing than a person.”

Tyler can still hear those words. As clear as day.

“He doesn't care about anything,” Ovi says now. “Or anyone. It's why I'm in the mess I'm in. Why I was in the mess I was in last year.”

“Well we got you out of that mess and we'll get you out of this one too. I'll talk to your father. Try to reason with him.”

“And if that doesn't work?”

“Well, if that doesn't work, I've got other ways of convincing people to give me what I want.”

“You'd kill him?”

“What?” Tyler chuckles.  “That isn't always my go to, you know. I don't always kill people. Sometimes I do other things.”

“Like rescue people.”

He nods.  It's the exact opposite of the conversation that they'd had in that bedroom at Gaspar's house. When Ovi had asked if he'd always been this way. Brave.

Ovi sighs heavily.  Helps himself to a french fry. Another sip of his shake. Then he smiles.

“You know, I think I could get used to Colorado.”

****

The grass is a stunning emerald green. Sparkling gloriously in the sunlight; plush and smooth against bare feet as she wanders into the courtyard, baby in her arms.  Talking something yet animatedly about their new surroundings, about the trees that tower of them,  the smell of the flowers in bloom,  the way the grass smells and feels, the way the brilliant rays sun cause the ripples in the pool to sparkle and dance.  It is a beautiful home with even more beautiful surroundings; modern, spacious, impeccably clean, But inside it was cold and uncomfortable. Sterile. As if no one had lived there for years.  Not a spec of dust or a single dirty dish in the song. No sounds of laughter.  No conversations around the dinner table.  

And definitely no love.

She'd grown tired of staring at the walls; going stir crazy with nothing more than the wander the halls, take a nap, or read a book. She'd tried engaging the workers in conversation; English was their second language and for the most part, spoke it impeccably. But they'd just stared at her as if she'd grown another head.  As if she'd broken some written that law that prohibited the help from fraternizing with those that inhabited the house.  It was strange way to live; merely floating through your day, no real human contact as you just completed one chore after another.  The job had been lonely at times; returning to an empty hotel room, never knowing when you'd step foot through your own front door again. But at least there had always been human contact.  

Her heart breaks for Ovi.  Being a teenager is hard enough. But being a teenager in his situation was unfathomable. A poor kid thrust into a life of chaos because of his father's poor choices. Left alone in an enormous house, surrounded by beautiful things, yet having nothing to truly cherish.  With Saju he'd had least had someone that genuinely cared for his health and well being, even if it did take the threat against his own child to show as much.  He'd had someone there to guide him.   Protect him. And once he'd died, Ovi had truly been left with nothing.

She selects a spot near the pool, sinking down into the grass, back to the water, legs in the shade cast by a large tree.  She places the her thighs, waiting until the cool breeze and the chirping of birds bring on the beginnings of a much needed nap before she leans back. Hands on the grass behind her, head tilted back, eyes closed as she lets the sun bathe her face in warm.  Needing a moment of calm.  An escape from those eerily quiet hallways and those sterile walls.   From the staff always underfoot and watching to fill even her basic needs. From the thoughts of twelve months ago. When she'd met both Tyler Rake and Ovi Mahajan Junior for the first time and her life changed in the blink of an eye.

Nik had called a half an hour before.  The news was good but not great. She had been able to track down a last name for Farhad but not an exactly location. With no registered place of address and no known associates, it was proving difficult to to pinpoint is exact location.  Somewhere near the market was useless. Those areas were densely populated and the residents and shop keepers feared retribution if they spoke out against the criminals.  

It had been the first time in a year that Esme had been the strong and assertive one. Telling her that she didn't want to hear excuses. The anniversary of the Dhaka job was four days away. And she wanted an address and a meeting time set up.

***

“You know, you shouldn't be out here alone.”

Opening her eyes, she places as a hand over them to shield them from the sun. “I'm not.  There's two guards on the roof and three constantly patrolling. That is not being out alone.”

“Someone is supposed to be with you at all times. You know the rules.”

“Fuck the rules,” she grumbles.  Actually missing the days she was the one on the job, watching out for someone else. “And you're in my sun.”

Jason steps to the side, and she closes her eyes and tilts her head back again.

“You don't need to be here,” she reminds him.

“Someone needs to be.”

“I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And if someone is able to get past two arm guards on the roof and the two out there, then we are well and truly fucked and might as well give up. Because they're obviously superhuman. So...”

“Well forgive me for saying so, but guns can do a lot of damage.”

“You've never heard a first hand account about how a human being can kill someone with a garden rake, have you?”

Jason frowns. “What?”

“It was two people actually. One with the handle and one with the...never mind. Let's just say, it wasn't pretty. Seriously, Jason. Go inside. I'm all out of patience and fucks today. And I like you, but...”

“Well at least one of you does.”

She sighs.  “You're still not ass hurt about that are you? You crossed a line. You got called out on it.  Live and learn.”

“Sounds like you've been spending the last year of your life making a lot of excuses for him.”

“Sounds like maybe you need stop before you cross another line. You're just here because this is where Nik sent you. We're not here to be friends. I'm just a job. In the same way other people were just the job when I got into the game. It is what it is.”

“What I'm curious about is how the two of you ended up forgetting that. That it you were there to do a job.”

Sighing, she sits up and runs her palms along the sides of her thighs to clear the grass away.  “What is your obsession with Tyler? It's kind of creepy.  First you kiss his ass royally the first day you meet him and now you're all up his ass for some reason. I don't know what you think you know about him. About us.  And to be quite frank, I don't really give a shit.  But he's my husband. The father of my child. And I'm not the type that will sit back and let you shit talk him. So if there's what you're here for...”

He holds his hands up in surrender, then unbuttons his suit jacket and sits down on the grass beside her.

“Really?” she asks.  “Do you have no concept of personal space? And weren't you told to stay away from me?”

His eyes sparkle mischievously.  “Are you going to tell on me?”

“Kid, you are walking a very thin line.  You will not like what happens to you if I do rat you out.  Remember the thing with the garden rake I just told you about that? That will look tame compared to what happens to you.  Why are you like this? Why do you feel the need to be around me? It's just creepy as fuck.”

“Just trying to be friendly, I suppose.”

“Friendly is talking about shared interests and the weather. You're asking me questions about my personal life. That's not normal.”

“I was just curious, that's all.  You and Tyler both go on and on about the importance of the job and not forming bonds with the people you help, but the two of you couldn't even follow that yourselves. It seems a little...I don't know...hypocritical.”

“It was a year ago. It happened. Maybe it wasn't the best decision either of us ever made and maybe we should have stopped it, but we didn't. Trust me, we aren't the only two that have done something like that. It happens more often than you think.  We're just the ones that got caught doing it.”

Or maybe they just hadn't been very good at hiding it.  G had figured it out. Asking about it when she'd met up with him in the woods, where they had hunkered down to wait for Tyler to bring Ovi to the extraction point. Anxious to just get the hell out of  there. He'd been more curious than judgmental. After all, he'd met his own wife when he'd been hired to rescue someone. She hadn't been directly related to the job, but their paths had still crossed.

“Come on, you can't fool me,” he'd grinned, when she'd tried denying that there was anything going on between her and Tyler. They'd simply had to pretend they were married and be convincing about it.  And she'd insisted that he gave her the bed while she slept on the floor.

Which had been true. Even if only lasted the first night.

“Who cares what people will think,” he'd said.  “You're two consenting adults. You ended up getting the job done. Nothing got fucked up because Tyler couldn't keep it in his pants. Hopefully the two of you had some fun while doing that whole pretend marriage thing.”

:If only he'd known just how fun.

“I mean, if you weren't strong enough to stop it, you should have at least been careful about things.”

Esme smirks. “You're starting to sound like Nik.”

“Well, it's true. Don't you think?”

“I think you need to mind your own business kid.  What happened between Tyler and I is none of your business. Maybe we should have.  Maybe we shouldn't have let ourselves get out so out of control that the thought of being careful never crossed out minds.  But it happened. It happened and she's here because of it...” she smiles at the baby sleeping on her thighs; dark eye lashes brushing against her cheeks, mouth moving as if suckling a bottle. And she gently runs her fingers through Amelia's hair, noticing the way the sun picks up the hint of red she'd inherited from her daddy.  “..she's here and she's amazing and I'm lucky to have her. To have both of them.  Tyler has his issues and his fault. He's not perfect. But he's perfect for me. For us.”

Finally silence. And she feels as if she can breathe again. Not stuck in a seemingly endless circle of having to explain and defend her choices twelve months ago to strangers and friends.  Her family had been baffled enough. Not understanding how a simple business trip ended up with her never returning home, a marriage, and a baby. All in the span of less than a year. And if they ever found out the whole truth about the 'business trip'...

***

“Are you happy?” Jason asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you happy?” he repeats. “Like genuinely happy. Or are you just stuck?”

“Kid, you must really have a death wish. Asking me stuff like this. What is wrong with you?”

“It's a simple question.”

“It's a nosy ass question. And I don't know you enough to be talking about these things with you.”

“I don't know why it's so hard to answer.”

“I don't know what's so hard for you to understand that I'm not talking about these things with you.  Why are you caught up on my marriage? Jesus.”

“You just don't seem happy is all,” he remarks.

“Well forgive me if this isn't exactly the place I want to be. Dealing with the same kind of bullshit that brought me last year in the first place.  You have no idea what went down.  How bad it went.  So you can't even begin to understand why we are all a little fucked up because of it.”

“Like I said. Just trying to make conversation.”

“Well go and make conversation with someone else, somewhere else. This is not the idea of 'me time' I had when I first came out. So if you don't mind...”

He opens his mouth to continue, but changes his mind.

Several minutes pass by before Esme speaks:

“Are you really that into making yourself feel useful?”

“I like feeling useful.”

“And I can trust you? I need to be able to trust you.”

“You can. One hundred percent.”

“I need you to go to Dhaka and track somebody down. Don't ask me why. You don't need to know why. I just need you to do it.”

“I don't know if it's a good idea to leave. Nik said...”

“I'll take care of Nik,” Esme says.  “I would do this myself, but I've been out of the game for a while now and I have no resources left in Dhaka. All of my people have moved on to other things.  I need you to track this person down and make arrangements for me to meet them. Three days from now. On the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Nowhere else. It has to be that bridge.  Can you do it for me?”

“I'd have to leave tonight. It might take a couple days to even get any info.  Never mind actually arrange a meeting.”

“Leave now if you have to.  But I need you to do this.  Can you? Do this?”'

He sighs heavily. Raking a hand through his sandy hair.  Then slowly nods in confirmation and asks:

“So what's the name?”

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 2 ♫ “Final Run” [ 2.12 ]

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

CURTAIN CALL – The complications surrounding Lucas’s presence at Adams reach a climactic pitch. Jack makes one last desperate maneuver. Riley and Isadora orchestrate an opposition, but true help comes from an unlikely ally. Someone says goodbye to AAA.

72 Minutes (21K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← We’ll Be the Stars ] [ S2 Synopsis ] [ The Sun Will Rise → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

The bustling streets of Manhattan, familiar as we’ve come to know them over the last two seasons. It’s the calm tranquility of Central Park; the humble exterior of Chubbie’s diner. The streets surrounding Adams Academy for the Arts, less traffic than usual on a Monday morning.

It’s home, for all intents and purposes. It’s the place we’ve come to know as familiar, as safe, a place to curl up and stay for a while. Yet there’s an uncertainty in the air, a tension that can’t be named but that permeates every formerly comfortable atmosphere. The sounds of the city are muted, feeling distant and far away.

It’s home, but it’s no longer safe. There’s a threat, imminent, and the way things are as we know them might be destined to come crashing down.

Jack, loudly: This is wrong!

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICE - DAY

JACK HUNTER is pacing the office of EVELYN RAND, in a heated debate with another school board member. This is JEFFERSON DAVIS GRAHAM, an older, old-fashioned type who plays by a dated playbook. He seems unmoved as Jack goes head-to-head with him, remaining neutral in a way that demonstrates poise but also lack of compassion. It’s easy to be level-headed, because he simply doesn’t care about the details.

They’re arguing fiercely about the Bradford case, now a school board issue since it’s gone public. Evelyn listens carefully to both sides, seated at her desk and processing the arguments. It’s hard to tell what way she’s leaning -- one of her great strengths as head school board member.

As far as Graham sees it, this issue is a mess for no reason with a simple solution -- remove the problematic entity, give the paying student the spot. What issues could possibly arise from more money being poured into a school? Besides, if it gets rid of a troublemaker, then even better.

But Jack fires back that it’s not about money. It’s the principle of the thing. What they do in this situation will set a precedent for the rest of Adam’s existence as a private institution.

Graham thinks Jack is being ridiculous, which is odd considering he’s always admired his level head and authoritarian approach. This whole thing is particularly ironic, given the student who ended up at the center of this case.

Jack: Ironic? I fail to see what’s so --

Graham: You used to hate this boy, Jackson! You think I don’t recall how often you’d come into this building seeking advice or just looking for a place to lament how you were saddled with this Lucas James Friar?

Jack grimaces, looking away. Graham continues on, making his point.

Graham: When you allowed this delinquent into your school in the first place --

Jack: He is not a delinquent --

Graham: It was only after much debate and counsel from the people in this directorate, including yours truly. And do you remember what I told you then, Jackson?

Jack, quietly: That’s not what this is about.

Graham: I told you don’t bother. So he’s a sob story -- there are ten kids just like him on every block in this city. You take him in, you take on that burden, then you’ll have to deal with it. And boy, did you. The way you used to complain --

Jack: That’s not what this is about!

Graham: So guess what, this should be good news! You’ve been given a golden opportunity to turn back the clock, to take the advice of your elders and make the smart decision. Let them take the problem off your hands, take the money, and move on!

Jack snaps that it’s not about what choices he made three years ago. This is an issue of integrity, and it’s about the students above all else. What does it say if a wannabe student with a huge paycheck can just oust another student? That’s not how Jack wants his school to be run, regardless of how much money it brings into their pockets.

Evelyn finally speaks, cutting both gentlemen off. She claims they’ll have plenty of time to debate this on the counsel floor -- she’s taking the decision out of Jack’s hands. Considering the matter has gone egregiously public and is causing more trouble than it should, the school board will vote on the issue instead.

Jack does not seem pleased by this development. Graham agrees, nodding curtly and allowing himself out. Evelyn grows a bit more sympathetic, expressing to Jack that he still has the chance to make his case. He just needs to make sure it’s good enough to get the right amount of people on his side.

Jack, determined: I will.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Love Runs Out” as performed by OneRepublic || Performed by Jack Hunter

The heavy instrumental opening settles upon us, accenting Jack’s exit from the office. Evelyn watches him go, expression still difficult to discern.

EXT. SCHOOL BOARD BUILDING - DAY

Jack emerges from the building, taking a deep breath. Then he launches into the opening verse, jogging his way down the steps. He’s walking with purpose, not wasting a second as the clock ticks down on Lucas’s fate at AAA -- and the fate of the school itself.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - MONTAGE - DAY

Then Jack is truly on the move. A montage of transitions shows him making his way all around town, doing small press interviews and meeting with school board members for lunch or coffee. He’s putting in favors wherever he can, making his case, shaking hands and running up and down the island to gain favor.

Any bit of traction he can, every little bit helps.

On the bridge, Jack comes to a slow stop outside one of the buildings in the financial district. He tries to catch his breath, distracted by the newspapers on display at a local stand.

The Bradford case is still there, front page news. The Bradfords themselves have now taken up a bulk of the page space, but that school portrait of Lucas is still tucked amidst the story. It seems to stare at Jack, reminding him of everything he’s fighting for. The integrity of it all, yes -- but the personal reasons, too.

So Jack takes off again. Another whirlwind of meetings, of sleepless nights, running and running himself into the ground.

He’s going to take this case down, if it’s the last thing he does. He’s going to keep Lucas at AAA -- or else die trying.

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Class is assembled for the final week, all of the A class except Lucas present. HARPER BURGESS and SHAWN HUNTER have taken front and center, leading a discussion about what this final week is going to look like.

First things first -- the elephant in the room. Most of them have read the Friar-Bradford story for themselves now, and Harper and Shawn give them all the information they have at present. This includes the development about the school board getting involved -- more or less, they will be holding a “trial” at the end of the week to determine whether Lucas will be asked to leave the school in the midst of this “scandal.”

The class is not happy to hear this news. RILEY MATTHEWS is stunned, unable to believe it. The techies are downright livid, considering one of their own is on the chopping block -- and their leader at that.

Nate: This is bullshit!

Shawn: I’m not going to argue with you on that.

Dave, dumbstruck: They can’t just take Lucas away.

Most of the performers agree this whole thing is stupid, and Maya acutely points out the grander question that permeates this case.

Maya: So, what? Can anybody just take our spot if they bid enough and dig up enough dirt? What does this mean for us?

A bit of a selfish perspective, but valid. Harper states it’s a bit more complicated than that, but how all of this will affect how AAA operates remains to be seen. One thing is certain, though -- whatever happens will set a true precedent for years to come.

That aside, Shawn explains that all of this is part of the reason they’re opting to do solo, private performances for final projects this year. They know there’s a lot going on, and a one-on-one, low-stress environment for a final performance feels like the appropriate move. They can sign up on the sheet on Harper’s desk.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

ISADORA DE LA CRUZ is marching through the halls, teeth grit and eyes blazing. She tries her best to ignore the chatter of other students as she goes, overhearing bits and pieces of their commentary on the Lucas situation.

No one has seen him since the trial element broke, and many of them figure he just won’t ever come back. He hates it here anyway, and the case the opposition can build against him is so easy to make. A few students even say good riddance, not caring about the implications either way.

Isadora forces herself not to engage, continuing her journey across the school.

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

She arrives in the office, demanding that ERIC MATTHEWS help her. She wants to know what she can do in regards to the case against Lucas. Anything. She’ll do anything.

Unfortunately -- and it truly seems to pain Eric to say it, although he hardly seemed surprised when Isadora spoke -- there’s not much they can do.

Isadora: See, you’re always saying that. Why are you always saying that?

Eric: Isa, believe me, I understand where you’re coming from. Do you think that if I knew a way to fix this situation, I would be sitting here twiddling my thumbs? If it could help Lucas, and Jack --

He cuts himself off, shaking his head. He pulls it back together, Isadora backing off a bit in terms of her intensity. This isn’t Eric’s fault, and she knows that. The last thing they need is to start turning on one another.

For now, this is something they just have to let the adults handle, and Eric can vouch that Jack is trying his damnedest. But as Isadora points out…

Isadora: No offense, but when have adults in power ever done anything right?

Fair… fair. Eric shrugs, wishing he could say something more constructive. But for now…

Isadora huffs, storming out.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

ASHER GARCIA and DYLAN ORLANDO are also on the move, racing their way through the auditorium. They’re calling for Lucas as they go, refusing to sit idly by and wait for him to show up and searching wildly for him instead.

They sprint their way up the stairs to the booth when they don’t find him anywhere else, Dylan taking the steps two at a time.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Dylan launches himself into the space first.

Dylan: Lucas? [ jogging further in ] Lucas!

Asher rushes in after him, allowing him to look deeper in the space. But there’s not much to investigate, and it’s more than clear Lucas isn’t present. Asher takes to searching the drawers and storage spaces instead, looking not for Lucas himself but rather his belongings.

He grows more worried the more he digs around. All of Lucas’s usual things are gone -- his snacks aren’t in the drawers, his supplies aren’t on the shelves.

Dylan: He’s not here. [ nervously ] Ash, he’s not here.

Asher: None of his stuff is here either.

Asher slams the drawer shut, getting to his feet and running a hand through his hair. Dylan looks at him sadly, dread washing over them.

Dylan: Do you… I mean, do you think he already -- ?

What? No. No. Lucas wouldn’t go without saying goodbye… but the expression on Asher’s face is just uncertain enough to convey real concern. The possibility hangs in the room, dominating their reality for a heavy moment.

Lucas, off-screen: What are you guys doing in here?

Dylan’s eyes widen, looking towards the door. Asher whips around to find LUCAS JAMES FRIAR, standing there with his backpack and eyeing them as if they’re the odd ones in this situation. Like nothing is out of the ordinary.

But it is. It is, and Dylan sprints past Asher to barrel Lucas with a hug. He’s surprised by the sense of urgency, awkwardly patting Dylan on the back until he lets him go.

Asher: Are you okay? Harper told us about the school board thing in class.

Lucas: Oh. Glad that’s spreading like the plague.

Dylan: What do you want us to do? What’s the game plan?

Lucas, plainly: Nothing. There is no game plan.

For what it’s worth, Lucas is acting very calm about this whole ordeal. He idly finishes collecting the sole remainder of his things, putting them in his backpack. Only that fact doesn’t feel comforting -- in fact, it adds a sense of uneasiness.

Dylan and Asher exchange worried looks, then Asher asks what’s going on. They need to brainstorm, they need to discuss. If they put their heads together --

Lucas: There’s nothing to discuss. [ matter-of-factly ] I’m leaving Triple A.

Just like that. No fanfare, no fight. Lucas has already accepted it, assuming it’s the new reality.

Dylan and Asher stare at him, dumbfounded. They stay frozen as Lucas scoots past them without another word.  Their fearless head technician, scrappy and proud and always willing to fight when it truly matters, has put up the white flag.

He’s surrendered, no more fight left to give.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Riley storms into Jack’s office. She doesn’t wait for an invitation, all composure and demure persona shot to hell. She fiercely claims there is no way they can remove Lucas from Adams.

Riley: It goes against just about every ethical principle, for one -- and what makes this Bradford girl so damn special that she can just swoop in and take someone else’s spot? And why? Just because she can throw money at it?

Jack: I know.

Riley: This place wouldn’t run without Lucas. We all know it. He is the backbone of the techies, and he contributes more tangible things to this school than probably the entire performer class combined.

Jack: Riley, I know that.

Riley, hysterical: He belongs here just as much as any of the rest of us. This is his home! He doesn’t deserve to -- he matters!

Jack agrees with her -- obviously, he does. And he’s doing absolutely everything he can, but that’s not enough to placate Riley. Not when the stakes are so high, and they’ve proven time and time again that adults can’t be trusted to do anything.

Riley: Oh, you’re going to handle it? The same way you handled the AAAC? Or the Into the Woods vandal, or the blatant abuse --

Riley’s voice cracks, on the edge of tears. She forces herself to keep it together, gripping the back of the chair across from Jack’s desk and dipping her head down. Jack takes the hits, unable to argue back and honestly not sure he wants to. Riley is right, after all. All of her concerns are his concerns, too -- that he’s not going to be able to fix it.

That he’s going to fail again, in a moment when it really matters.

She takes a deep breath, searching for an alternative where there are none. Grasping at straws, offering everything she has.

Riley, fragile: I’ll leave.

Jack: What?

Riley: Take my spot instead. I’ll go upstate and live with my mom, and Missy can take my spot. Then he can stay. [ tearful ] Right? I’ll go, and he -- he can stay. Take me instead.

Jack frowns, and that’s enough to signal that it’s not an option. A tear slips down Riley’s cheek, which she wipes at hastily. He explains that unfortunately, the board is going to take advantage of this public spotlight to set a precedent either way -- and that narrative has come to include Lucas, willingly or not. It’s not as simple as a spot anymore.

She’s just a student. There’s not much she can do.

Riley shakes her head, fumbling back and escaping from the room before she embarrasses herself by crying in front of him. Jack rises from his seat and considers going after her… but figures it’s better to leave her alone. He doesn’t know what else he could do anyway.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Riley pushes out of the main office and into the atrium, grateful that classes are in session and no one else is roaming the halls. Her eyes are still glassy, and it’s not going to take much to tip the scales.

In fact, all it really takes is a glance towards the main staircase. The same place she first locked eyes with Lucas what feels like forever ago -- when things felt so different. Before she really knew who he was, before anything made sense.

With Lucas, things make sense. And soon enough, these halls might very well exist without him. She can’t imagine a version of her world where he’s no longer in it.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “My Man” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Riley Matthews

Riley delicately starts the powerful ballad, encompassing the entirety of her emotional journey with Lucas in a few simple lines.

What’s the difference if I say “I’ll go away?” When I know I’ll come back on my knees someday

She cautiously starts making her way through the halls towards the auditorium, growing more emotional and passionate the deeper in she gets.

For whatever my man is, I am his Forever more.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Riley takes the soliloquy to the stage, nothing but her and a spotlight to accent the performance. It’s reminiscent of so many of her former power ballads (“Rose’s Turn,” “On My Own,” “She Used to Be Mine”), only this one hits with the rawness of pure certainty. There’s no more wondering what exactly she feels about Lucas James Friar, and there’s no point in trying to reason with it.

And the flashbacks interspersed throughout do a good job of supplementing her case. The rest of the performance up to the last 30 seconds is laced with memories, driving the point home just how deeply the two of them have come to not only know one another, but care about each other. Walking through the Christmas tree farm with the snow; Riley’s first dance lesson during culture swap week; playing basketball; their moment in the teacher’s lounge; handholds in 112 and 208; sitting together in the courtyard to escape everything else; finding refuge in the booth.

When she sings “when he takes me in his arms, the world is bright, alright” at the swell, of course focus shifts to the Jacobs gala kiss.

It’s all of it -- it’s everything. They’re not perfect, far from it, but Riley can’t fathom the possibility of letting it all go. She came to Adams specifically because she was looking for a place to belong, and she found it… just not in the school.

The last flashback is Lucas looking up at her after telling her who she is when she sings sounds like the real her, someone truly worth knowing, which then finds back to Riley belting out the last rendition of the chorus. The lyrics “for whatever my man is, I am his” are searing with conviction, Riley totally committed to their truth.

Eyes shimmering with tears, she rounds out the performance with a level of gusto the divas could only dream of. She’s out of breath when she finishes, almost collapsing back into tears.

Thankfully, something snaps her out of it. Applause.

Riley lifts her head, startled. Stunned that someone was listening -- terrified for a moment that it’s the same person who pulled this move almost two years ago.

But it’s not Lucas. Isadora finishes her claps as she makes her way down the aisle from the house entrance, telling Riley it was a nice performance. Definitely emotive, there’s no doubt about that.

Riley lets out a resounding sigh, dropping down to a sitting position on the edge of the stage. She wipes at her eyes, Isadora reaching the front of the auditorium. They share in silence for a moment, Isadora propping her elbows on the stage.

Isadora: It’s true, then? [ looking at her ] You really love him.

What a strange thing, to hear it stated so casually. Riley takes a deep breath, keeping her eyes glued to the seats. Then she nods, releasing it.

Riley: Yes. [ softly ] Can’t remember when I didn’t.

Isadora nods, absorbing this. Another pause.

Isadora: I wasn’t sure what to think. After the whole Confessions thing. I mean, I always thought you two were… I didn’t know what to make of it at the time, but I knew it was there. I’m not an idiot. [ a beat ] Then all of that happened, and all this doubt got thrown in the mix. I’m not good with doubt.

Riley closes her eyes, trying to stop the tears. She takes another calming breath. Isadora doesn’t interrupt her, continuing to speak and giving her the time she needs.

Isadora: But it still just seemed… I know Lucas thought it was true, because I think he wanted it to be. He gets so defensive, you know, has all these barriers up. These hoops he jumps through just to keep expectations low, to keep people a safe distance away. You broke through that, and then when things got complicated and doubt got involved he just… believed it. Because it was safer that way. If you never make yourself vulnerable, then you can never get hurt. I know that better than anybody. So I trusted his judgment, but… I don’t know. It didn’t seem right.

Isadora shakes her head, thoughtful.

Isadora: Now, I’m pretty convinced. [ with a dry laugh ] It sounds ridiculous, and I hate this school for making me this way, but it was in the vocals. You can’t sing about someone like that and not mean it.

True enough, especially on this show. The truth of the sentiment settles over them for a long moment. Riley huffs, shaking her head.

Riley: We can’t let them do this, Dora. We can’t let them… we have to do something.

Isadora locks eyes with her, matching her intensity. A whole new storm of potential brewing between them… perhaps this fight isn’t as hapless as it seems…

INT. AAA - LIBRARY - DAY

CHARLIE GARDNER is at a table in the corner, reading through the latest article on the case. He chews his thumbnail as he scrolls through it on his phone, obviously disturbed by it.

Farkle: You catch my cameo?

Charlie lifts his head, FARKLE MINKUS sliding into the seat across from him. He taps the phone, propping his feet up on another chair.

Farkle: I think it’s like eight paragraphs in or so. They mention current Adams junior Farkle Minkus, recently returned to the school after a stint in rehabilitation for attempted suicide. In their eyes, it’s just more proof of how the students at Adams aren’t cut out to handle it.

Charlie, disgusted: That’s sick.

Farkle: Maybe. But if I’m being honest with myself, sounds like exactly the kind of arguments I would’ve made only a year or so ago. Entitlement is one hell of a drug.

Charlie: You weren’t this bad. You weren’t like this.

Farkle: You’re so sweet, Chuck. But flattery will get us nowhere. At least in this situation.

Charlie frowns, putting his phone down. He chews his lip, wondering aloud what the hell they’re supposed to do about this. Everyone tells them they have no power, that it’s out of their hands, but that doesn’t seem right. There has to be something they can do.

Farkle considers, then shrugs. Far as he sees it, the fact that they care at all is the first step. Most people don’t even make it that far. After that... 

Farkle: My brother Ezekiel is really big on studying activism. His stance on it is pretty clear. Lots of people can claim they care, can claim they’re an activist, but few people actually do anything when they have the ability to do so -- even things as simple as speaking up. Now, I don’t know how much activism my brother really does, so he could just be the pot calling the kettle black. But I think his perspective makes sense. The most important thing anyone can do is to make the active choice to help someone else. Even when it might impact them adversely to do so -- especially then.

Food for thought. Not a solution to the issue at hand, but maybe it could be. They just have to find the way in which they can do something.

INT. AUDITION HALL - DAY

ZAY BABINEAUX is backstage, gearing up for his callback for the off-Broadway production. It’s of West Side Story, although with some fresh twists on it as to be expected for something small-scale and new.

Maya is there with him, hyping him up before he goes out on stage. She gives him a pep talk, although some of her points aren’t exactly helpful.

Maya: And if it doesn’t pan out, don’t think about the fact that we could also potentially all be kicked out of Triple A at the drop of a hat. Put that out of your mind.

Zay: … it wasn’t in my mind until now!

Oh. Well, whoops. Maya gives him one pat and a swift break a leg, zipping from backstage to go back in the audience. Zay grounds himself, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders.

He marches onto the stage just as Maya returns to the house, sliding into a seat next to Isadora. Both of them give him encouraging smiles, the casting panel eyeing him interestedly.

Zay introduces himself, and explains that he’ll be auditioning with a routine to the Act II dance display, “Cool.” Once they’ve taken their notes, the creative team signals for him to begin whenever he’s ready.

He takes a deep breath, centering himself.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Cool” as performed by West Side Story Original Cast Recording || Performed by Zay Babineaux & Dylan Orlando (feat. AAA Junior Techies)

When he opens his eyes again, he’s completely in character, taking on a harsher edge. The lights shift on the stage, reflecting the intensity of the number.

Zay: You wanna live in this lousy world?

Abruptly, the scene flips --

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

To the AAA auditorium, where the techies are assembled. They’re brooding, the stage dark and stylistically lit. It feels like darkness around them for miles, reflecting their current state. The crew of them are bristling with energy, angry and frustrated and ready for action.

That is, except for Dylan. He’s upset too, certainly, but he knows that doing something reckless isn’t going to get them anywhere. He’s learned that the hard way -- and in the absence of their leader, he has to step up to keep everyone else from making a rash decision.

Dylan: Just play it cool.

Nate: I wanna get even!

Dylan: Get cool!

Dave: I wanna bust!

Dylan: Bust cool!

Asher: I wanna go --

Dylan holds a hand out, taking his boyfriend by the shoulder. Holding him back from going scrappy, as he so often does. They lock eyes, Dylan’s gaze urging him to stay calm.

Dylan: Go cool!

The number stays split between the techies and Zay’s audition, transitioning effortlessly back and forth. While Zay’s dancing is of course a highlight, the most impressive aspect is the techie crew’s range. They’re truly channeling the same energy of the original number, a gang of some sorts fuming after the loss of their de facto leader and scrambling to reorganize.

In the section after the first minute, Dylan is going around keeping everyone from losing their cool. He tells Nate to cool it first when he kicks at one of the set pieces on display, then has to talk Dave down when he starts to grow too angry (“Cool it, Davie, cool it, cool it…”). Dave laughs it off, as if it’s nothing… and then he kicks over the stack of acting blocks, descending into delirious, heartbroken laughter (“Pow!”). Jade rushes over to pull him back from doing any more damage, basically having to restrain him.

As the song escalates into the dance break it’s famous for, the number becomes more evenly split between the two sets. It’s easy to forget how competent and talented the techies are as a group -- but they are. This performance is “Thnks Fr Th Mmrs” but turned up to eleven, with far more stylization and actual raw anger as the motivator. Their choreography isn’t nearly as difficult or seamless as Zay’s, but that’s all part of the fun contrast -- they’re messier, more erratic, but just as sharp and energetic.

Dylan, as the unexpected second-in-command, is particularly compelling. Considering how happy-go-lucky he usually is and the energy the techies usually have, the whole rendition… feels chilling. A manifestation of grief, above all else.

INT. AUDITION HALL - DAY

Zay gets the last chorus, about 4 minutes in. He finishes up his audition, giving a curt little bow.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The rest of the techies have dispersed, Dylan left on stage seemingly alone. He saunters his way back into the shadows… although his own cool facade is coming apart. He bites back his own frustration and anger over the situation, letting it out in the smallest of symbolic ways with the final “pow” of the number.

He holds up a fist as he does so, as if he might do something -- but Asher is there. He catches his hand and meets his gaze, pulling him back down to Earth. A heavy moment passes between them… and then Dylan drops his hand.

Asher keeps a hold on it as he drifts back into the darkness, slowly pulling Dylan along with him until the stage is empty.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Lucas is back in the chair across from Jack, although the mood is a way it’s never been before. It’s not easygoing and comfortable, but it’s not tense and antagonistic either. Something about it is deflated, all of their usual fire as they volley back and forth burnt down to cinders.

That’s not for lack of trying, however. Jack is fully invested as he describes what the trial process is going to be like, explaining that he’ll be with Lucas the whole time and will be doing most of the talking. All Lucas has to do is show up and present himself appropriately, and he’ll do his best to handle the rest.

It’s Lucas who is bringing down the energy. Not that he's doing anything, exactly, but that’s the problem. He’s complacent, nodding along to what Jack has to say but not really engaging with it. Already convinced it’s a lost cause, and appearing surprisingly okay with it. Not thrilled, but resigned. Braced for the inevitable.

It’s so not Lucas, and this frustrates Jack. He tries to get him to talk with him about it, for them to brainstorm and see what else they can come up with, but Lucas isn’t budging. He plaintively states that Jack has wasted enough time stressing over him in the last three years.

Jack: … I’m not giving up. We’re going to fight this, Lucas. It’s not over yet.

Lucas: It’s not worth the energy.

Jack: Of course it is. Any student’s well-being is worth the effort --

Lucas, pointedly: But I’m not worth your career.

It’s the way he says it that really hits. Firmly, but softly, with this… ghost of a smile. Like he recognizes Jack’s persistence, appreciates it for what it is… but already knows it’s futile. And certainly not worth tanking his own well-being to combat.

Jack stares at him, lost for words. Wanting there to be an easy solution, a checkmate move he can make to prove this whole thing isn’t pointless.

Asher, pre-lap: He’s completely given up.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The techies are occupying the stage, in the midst of another brainstorm session. The whiteboard is out, but it’s completely blank. The mood in here has deflated as well, all of that anger in their imaginary grieving process having simmered down to inertia.

Their figurehead is gone, and so it seems is their spirit.

Dylan: It was just wrong. For him to look at us and just tell us… for him to just surrender. It’s like it wasn’t even Lucas.

Jade: He’s really not even trying? He’s just going to let it happen.

[ Asher nods. The entire mood deflates even further. Nate shakes his head in disgust. ]

Nate: And there’s nothing we can fucking do about it.

Riley, off-screen: Maybe not.

All of them perk up, looking towards the dressing room hall. Riley enters with Isadora, the two of them marching over to join the techie circle. Lucas may think the situation is fruitless, but then, he’s never been the optimist. If they follow his example, then they will fail. That’s guaranteed.

Isadora: Lucas has never been about fighting for himself. He’d do it for any one of us, but never for himself.

Riley: But that doesn’t mean we have to give up too. And we may not have any direct power in our hands, but there is one thing that not even the Bradfords can buy off of us.

Dave: Our vital organs?

Isadora: Close, Dave. Very close.

Riley: Our voice.

Nate scoffs, but they’re not finished. The way they see it, the only thing they can do in this situation is speak up, and loudly, that none of them are okay with it. This isn’t just about Lucas, after all -- if he goes down, then every one of them are at risk of being the next domino to fall. They’re aware the school has never been about camaraderie, but now more than ever is the time to band together as a united front.

So they’re going to protest it, boldly and publicly. Riley has already started brainstorming logistics, and Isadora has some thoughts on how they can get the media involved so it actually has some heft. But they’re going to need help, a lot of help… including Lucas’s most loyal crew.

Dylan is already on board, ready for a scrap and a riot or two. The rest seem eager as well, but Nate does make one solid point.

Nate: Okay, so say we do this. Great. That’s what… ten people standing outside Adams shouting about how unfair everything is? That’ll be real compelling. Especially since we’re his friends.

Asher: Unfortunately, Nate is right.

Nate: Thanks.

Asher: This is a good plan, but it needs numbers. And we definitely don’t have pull with the rest of the student body.

Jeff: We could maybe get some of the underclassmen techies in on it, but...

Riley: That’s great. You all focus on that, and Isadora will delegate the rest of the preparation tasks. [ a beat ] Leave the rest to me.

Vague, but promising. The room is suddenly buzzing with energy again -- the invigorating sense that all hope is not lost. The techies exchange determined glances, then look to Riley. All in, whatever happens next.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Charlie opens his locker, checking his phone and surprised to find a missed call and voicemail waiting. He lifts it to his ear to listen, shock taking over his features. It’s Principal Jackson of Haverford Prep, calling to explain that they’ve reviewed his application and are happy to offer him admission to their elite senior class.

In all of the insanity, Charlie had completely forgotten about the audition. He honestly didn’t think he would even get in. Now that the possibility has been laid down in front of him, he doesn’t know how to process it.

HALEY FISHER and CLARISSA CRUZ come to join him, immediately asking if everything is okay based on his expression. He covers, clearing his throat and claiming he’s just… thinking about his final performance. Trying to figure out what it should be.

They don’t question him, launching into brainstorming ideas. Charlie lets the moment pass, shutting his locker and following them down the hall.

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

Riley and Isadora confront Eric, pitching him their strategy for a student opposition to the school board trial. They’re methodical, meticulous, and clearly prepared. He can’t possibly say they haven’t thought things through, and any action is better than inaction.

So he’s on board. He agrees to be their faculty sponsor, allowing them to congregate on school grounds and do whatever processes they so please within a reasonable limit. But he emphasizes that this will really have to be on them -- he’ll be busy playing emotional support the day of the trial so he won’t be able to help them much.

Isadora: Don’t worry about it. We can handle it.

She says it confidently, exchanging a resolute look with Riley. They know exactly what they’re getting into, and they’re doing it no matter what.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Which is the energy Riley takes to the A class, rallying with them during class. Harper gives her full control of the front of the room and doesn’t fight for attention, more than happy to let this fight take precedence.

And damn, does Riley make a compelling case. She highlights all the reasons they should be willing to help drum up support, starting with a compassion-based approach before swerving into more tactful psychology. She reiterates what Maya basically said when they heard the news -- if this goes through, it will set a precedent that endangers all of them.

Sarah: And why should I care what happens to Lucas? All he’s done is cause trouble.

Asher: Maybe because you wouldn’t have had a successful production for the last three years if he weren’t here, Carlson. Not that anyone would’ve missed your forgettable background vocals.

Ooooh. Asher is not here to play around this week, and the class derives the limited amusement they can from it. Sarah doesn’t argue further, but Riley elects to actually acknowledge her point.

Riley: Lucas is the current target, yes, but the point is that it could’ve been -- and could be -- any one of us. If you can’t bring yourself to care about him, think about how it would feel if it were you next. Or your best friend. The person you cannot imagine Triple A without.

Heaviness settles over the room. Maya and Farkle exchange a look -- they know that fear all too well. Haley looks to Clarissa, the latter giving her a soft smile and taking her hand. Dylan squeezes Asher’s knee.

Riley: Best friend or not, we are all students at this school. For whatever reason, we were admitted, and we’ve earned our place here. And we cannot be bought. That’s something all of us should be able to get behind, details irrelevant.

There’s a long pause. Then YINDRA AMINO nods from her seat on top of one of the desks.

Yindra: Friar has never been my favorite person, but Riley is right. In this case, if it’s one of us, then it’s all of us. [ a beat ] I’m in.

Nigel: Ditto.

Slowly, the junior A class comes together. Maybe to save their own hides… or maybe because amidst the chaos, they’re some weird version of a family.

Riley, raising her hand symbolically: All in?

Dylan and Asher don’t hesitate. Zay’s hand goes up. Isadora’s. Maya, with a sharp smirk in Riley’s direction. Even Farkle. The only one who doesn’t seem one hundred percent sold is Charlie, his trained aversion to avoid trouble strong as ever. But his hand goes up all the same.

Riley looks at all of them, shining with pride and a little emotional. This, she can work with. This battle is far from over -- it’s only just beginning.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Yesterday - Anthology 2 Version” as performed by Paul McCartney || Performed by Lucas James Friar

Meanwhile, Lucas is gearing up to give his last performance at AAA (ironically, also one of his first). He’s casually seated on the edge of the stage with his guitar, actually taking the final assignment seriously. Might as well, if it’s the last one he ever has.

The Anthology 2 version specifically captures the unpolished, offhand quality of the performance, Lucas going through the motions of figuring out what key he’s going to be playing in and explaining it to Shawn and Eric. Then Harper cues him whenever he’s ready, and he launches into the song.

It’s unrehearsed, and full of mistakes -- including the bit where Lucas mixes up the wrong lyrics and kind of laughs at himself -- but there’s something really charming about it too. For the first time, Lucas seems weirdly at peace as he performs, knowing that none of it matters anymore. He can just sing, and it doesn’t mean anything more than that.

The faculty are not so at ease with the circumstances. Harper and Eric are both respectfully listening, doing well at keeping their own emotion in check. Shawn is not so skilled, doing his best to stem whatever tears might possibly be coming by clearing his throat and half-hiding behind his hand.

Jack is a couple rows behind them, watching the performance with a stony expression. Hating that it’s come to this, that he can’t even enjoy the rendition from the student he never thought he’d see willingly perform. Hating that he’s decided this is the final run without consulting him.

Lucas wraps up the performance, silence settling over the auditorium for a long moment. Harper manages a smile, nodding.

Harper: Thank you, Lucas.

Lucas returns the nod.

INT. MINKUS HOME - HOME OFFICE - NIGHT

Farkle pokes his head into STUART MINKUS’s office, asking if he has a moment. Although the past would suggest otherwise, Stuart assures him he always has time to spare for him.

After bringing up the subject of the Bradford case, which Stuart has naturally read up on, Farkle questions if they would be able to donate to Riley’s and the A class protest efforts. Not a chunk of change, just enough to pay for the supplies and such that they’ll need to make their materials. He doesn’t want Riley to have to pay out of pocket, and Stuart is always saying they should contribute to worthy causes.

Hard to argue with that. Stuart agrees, happily stating that Farkle can charge it to the family card. Still, he has to wonder…

Stuart: Isn’t this Friar boy the one who used to chase you around the auditorium and terrorize you every day?

Farkle: Yes, well, therapy has illuminated my own faux pas in that situation. And the past is the past, so.

So it is. Farkle thanks his father again, starting to head out when he hesitates. He turns to ask one more question, asking Stuart if he would’ve done the same thing. Like, if Farkle were Missy, wanting so badly to get in this elite school and they could pay through the nose to make it happen, would he go so far as to push another student out to do it?

Stuart seriously contemplates the question, intending to give Farkle a worthy answer. He admits that while it would be tempting, as one of the greatest joys as a parent is giving your children everything they could possibly want… he likes to think no, he wouldn’t. He’d try his best, but he wouldn’t want to give Farkle an advantage at the expense of someone else.

Fair enough. Farkle seems satisfied with that, nodding and offering a smile and good night as he heads back into the hall.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Lucas joins GRACE FRIAR on the couch, the two of them enjoying a humble snack before bed. Lucas apologizes for all of the chaos this whole story has caused, especially if any of it has blown back on her. She brushes it off, but admits that it’s for the best that his father is out of town right now. Hopefully it will all blow over by the time he returns.

Ah, yes, his father… slowly, some of Lucas’s resigned demeanor begins to crack. Although he tries to come off aloof, he asks what’s going to happen if he does end up removed from AAA. Is he going to have to drop out? Or worse, is he going to go back to Quincy?

Grace looks at him, mustering a weak smile and patting his knee.

Grace: We’ll figure out a plan. It’ll be fine.

But it’s clear from how timid her voice is and the expression on her face that she has no plan. They have no alternatives, and saying it’ll be fine doesn’t erase the fear from her features.

Lucas mirrors the half-hearted smile, nodding in agreement. It only crumbles when he looks away, staring at the floor and clenching his jaw to keep his expression neutral.

For all his perceived quietude, he might be pretty scared too.

Charlie, pre-lap: I just wish there was more I could do.

INT. GARDNER HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Charlie is seated at the kitchen table, ELEANOR GARDNER listening as he tells her all about what’s going on with their school right now. Riley’s plan is about the only active opposition they’ve got, but he’s still not sure if he should go through with it or not. He wants to, because he really wants to help take a stand… but he’s nervous, too. If things go south, it definitely won’t look good on his records.

Although Eleanor is sympathetic to Lucas’s plight, she claims Charlie is right to be cautious. It’s his future on the line as well, and he shouldn’t be giving that up just because his classmate already fumbled theirs. In fact, since Lucas sort of got himself into this situation, she thinks it might be wise for Charlie to mind his own business and let it be.

He was on the same page with her there for most of it… but putting the blame on Lucas bumps him. He questions what she’s talking about, and she points out that if you do the crime, then you do the time. Lucas has far from a clean record, and if this is the cosmic punishment the Lord has laid down for him then far be it for them to try and fight it.

Charlie: Isn’t it our job to help people who have fallen though? I thought the whole point of faith was to uplift, and extend forgiveness --

Eleanor: It is. Honey, it is, I’m not saying otherwise. But mistakes have consequences, and punishment must be served.

Charlie: So you’re saying I should do nothing. Even though I clearly have something that I could do, even as small as showing up.

Eleanor: I think you should do whatever you feel in your heart is right. Just remember… there are some people in this world who cannot be saved. You’ll have to decide whether this classmate of yours is worth it or not.

Suddenly we’re putting worth on a teenager again. Charlie frowns, not sure what to make of the conversation.

Then Eleanor takes it a step further, shifting her attention to him. She makes a face and affectionately adjusts his hair, clicking her tongue.

Eleanor: This is getting quite long, isn’t it? We should make you an appointment to get it cut. [ innocently ] Don’t want to give people the wrong impression, hm?

Wrong impression of what? The comment is meant to be protective and loving, but it rubs Charlie the wrong way. He continues to frown as his mother walks away and heads for bed, slowly shifting into a scowl.

He pushes from his seat, heading towards the stairs.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Charlie is already dialing his phone before he even shuts the door, pacing impatiently while he waits for a response. When they pick up, his gaze is intent.

Charlie: Riley? What’s the plan? [ resolute ] Tell me what I can do to help.

As the rocking guitar rolls in…

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I Predict A Riot” as performed by Kaiser Chiefs || Performed by AAA Juniors

School is no longer for education but for strategizing, the classroom having been transformed into a headquarters for Riley’s protest mission. They’re working under a tight timeline with the school set to be their battleground in just a couple days, so everyone is hard at work.

Throughout the montage, A class students jog up and edit items on the massive whiteboard. Cross off action items, add new ones, adjust the countdown they have in the top right. The vocals float over the scenery, not a performance but more so a battle cry.

Asher and Dylan are in charge of poster design, leading groups of students in creating them with expert efficiency. They hold up a few here and there for Riley to approve, some humorous while others hit the nail right on the head.

Jade is leading a crop of workers in making custom tee shirts for the event, Clarissa keeping track of all the new “orders” they get for a shirt on a spreadsheet. NICK YOGI floats around with his A/V club camera, capturing the whole process for historical posterity.

Isadora makes her grand move, getting media pull by using the De La Cruz card. She negotiates on the phone with them one-by-one, claiming she’ll give them exclusive details on how the mother-daughter dynamic is developing… if they pay her one back and cover this story as well.

After another successful call, she jots it down in her notebook before shifting her focus. She pulls up her text chain with Valerie, letting her know what’s going on and keeping her updated on all the details. It’s clear that she let her know about it yesterday and Valerie responded telling her to keep her posted, but she’s yet to respond since then.

Riley is drawing up agendas and maps for the day, from where they’ll start to where they’ll end. Farkle and Charlie are brainstorming with her, offering suggestions or walking through the plot step-by-step. Maya and Zay are keeping a working copy of the “performance” schedule, including speeches, chants, and renditions planned throughout the afternoon.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Sarah and DARBY WINTERS run through the halls, putting their notorious gossip skills to good use and spreading the word. More and more students from all grades make their way towards the black box, looking to contribute in whatever way they can.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Riley is in the midst of a discussion about where the march should start when her phone rings, distracting her. She claims she has to take it and tells her crew she’ll be right back, darting into the hall.

Farkle: I’m just saying, I don’t see how having everyone blockade the streets around Triple A with their vehicles is such an unfeasible idea. I could contribute the Minkus helicopter if we’re really short on bulk.

Zay: Please tell me you realize how ridiculous you sound. If not, I’m not sure I have the heart to burst your bubble.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Riley picks up the phone, TOPANGA LAWRENCE on the other end of the line. Riley warns her that this isn’t really a good time, as there’s a lot going on at the moment.

Topanga asks when isn’t there, but she cheerfully assures her she’ll be quick. She just wanted to check in about whether Riley had given any more thought to the upstate move. If they do want to consider the art schools up there, after all, they really need to get a move on…

Riley holds her breath, confronted with the decision unexpectedly. But glancing over her shoulder towards the black box, where her entire class is so hard at work with her leading the charge… suddenly the answer becomes crystal clear.

Riley: I can’t.

Topanga: What’s that, dear? You have to speak up, you know I’m always telling you that.

Riley, firmly: I want to stay in Manhattan, mom. I want to stay at Triple A.

Silence. Riley fidgets under the cold reception, but she doesn’t back down. She opens her mouth to speak again but Topanga beats her to it.

Topanga: Are you sure?

Riley: Yes. I really appreciate it, the offer, and everything you think you’re doing for me. Really, I do. But this is where I need to be right now. It’s where I want to be. I can’t leave everything I have here. [ a beat ] Especially not now.

More silence. It feels like it might go on forever… when Topanga states it’s fine. She doesn’t sound pleased, but she will respect Riley’s choice as she said she would. She just hopes this doesn’t mean they’ll never see one another again.

Riley: Of course not --

Topanga, passive-aggressively: I just hope you’re making the right choice.

Once upon a time, that tactic may have worked on Riley. But she’s learned a lot since then. She’s learned to stand up for herself, to raise her own voice -- when she does, that’s when she’s really worth knowing.

Riley: I am. Trust me.

Well, nothing left to say, then. Topanga says she’ll call later, but Riley knows that might be a while so she can lick her wounds. They say goodbye and Riley leans against the wall, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She looks back towards the classroom, alive with action and purpose. A movement she created.

Then she jumps back into the fray, ready to really make a difference.

EXT. AAA - DAY

A fancy town car pulls up outside Adams. A glossy pair of shoes step out from the backseat, and MISSY BRADFORD emerges as the driver helps her out of the car. She exchanges a proud smile with her father CARSON BRADFORD, the two of them making their way up the steps towards the entrance. Already, board members in suits are milling about the building.

Trial day has arrived, and with it the future of AAA.

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Jack is finishing setting up the lecture hall for the proceedings, directing faculty to finish the arrangements. It’s decorated quite similarly to a courtroom, a long string of tables at one end of the room set up for the board members. Opposite that, a table is set up for the Bradfords and their legal team, and a few feet away are seats for Jack and Lucas at their own table.

Up in front of the projector screen in the corner, a podium stands, typically reserved for the lecturers who use the space. Today, it’s a witness stand.

Evelyn Rand greets Jack as she enters, one of the first board members to arrive. She commends him on being willing to use their space, and for organizing such an efficient set up. That being said, she does hope the proceedings won’t create too much of a disturbance for the students.

Oh, don’t you worry about the students, Miss Rand…

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

The students are creating a disturbance all their own.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Come Together” as performed by The Beatles || Performed by AAA Juniors (feat. AAA Students)

Riley kicks off the eerie call-to-arms, walking towards us down the street from the march starting point. Soon enough Dylan and Asher fall into line behind her on either side, harmonizing with her. On the first “come together,” Isadora and Zay arrive, and they sing the chorus right to the camera.

So the march continues, picking up more and more students along the way until there’s a full-fledged rally making their way towards the school. Thanks to Isadora’s media influence, reporters and other passersby join in on the crowd as well. By the time they arrive at Adams, a crowd of at least 200 people has gathered to protest.

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Missy is just in the midst of explaining to the school board that her lawyer should be here any minute -- just as ANNE MARIE WINTHROP walks through the door. She apologizes for the delay, as there were lots of unexpected traffic jams on the way over.

Jack: Oh, hell no --

Before Jack can make a move either way on this brand new reveal -- a dirty move on the Bradfords part, hiring his ex-girlfriend -- Eric swoops in and grabs his arm. His eyes are wide.

Eric: You’ve got to see this.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Jack and Eric make their way to the doors, stunned by the scene that has formed on the steps of the school. The other school board members are getting a good look too, the stunt definitely having gotten their attention.

EXT. AAA - DAY

Outside, as the Beatles tune shifts into the guitar solo, Riley takes to the section of the steps they’ve designated the “stage” and takes the megaphone from Maya. She begins her opening speech to her fellow students about why they’re there today -- because they’re the true heart of AAA, and they refuse to be bought.

Riley: Who are we?

AAA Students: The people!

Riley: Do we matter?

AAA Students: Yes!

Dave: Hell yeah!

Riley: And what matters more -- the people, or a profit?

AAA Students: The people!

Riley: No matter who you are?

AAA Students: Yeah!

Riley: No matter what?

AAA Students: No matter what!

Damn right! More media is arriving to cover the surprise protest, surprising the likes of Jefferson Graham as he arrives for the trial. He seems disdainful as he pushes his way through students and avoids reporters, heading for the stairs.

Lucas also arrives in the midst of the spectacle, dressed as best as he can manage in dark jeans and a slightly wrinkled button down. He even managed to comb his hair after an entire year of dissing the notion. He’s stunned by the crowd and the rally and the sheer presence of such a fuss, absolutely baffled.

Lucas, under his breath: What the fuck --

As if on cue, reporters zero on him. There he is! The infamous Lucas James Friar! They start to swarm him, asking a million questions that he has no idea how to handle or answer.

Luckily, Eric comes to his rescue. He appears in the crowd, reaching out and taking his arm.

Eric: Hey, I got you. Come on, come on!

Lucas follows Eric, letting him push their way through the assembly and towards the school. When they get to the entrance and he can finally see the view from above it all, Lucas scans the chaotic scene and finds Riley standing at the core of it all.

They lock eyes, only for a moment, across the steps. Then Riley takes a deep breath, turning back to the people and leading their war cry.

Riley: People over profit! We won’t be bought!

AAA Students: People over profit! People over profit!

The crowd is downright uproarious. Eric guides the dumbstruck Lucas through the doors and into the school, leaving the movement to Riley.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

The sound of the protest lowers to a quiet din as they step into the school, but it’s impossible to ignore. Lucas and Eric meet with Jack, discussing what the hell is going on outside. Sure, it’s a lot, but it definitely can’t hurt their case.

Jack: Trust me, I don’t think the Bradfords are planning to play nice.

Eric claims it doesn’t matter -- they have their case, and they know they’re on the right side of AAA history. Now, it’s just time to convince everyone else.

Jack gives Lucas a bracing pat on the shoulder, asking if he’s ready. He nods, and the three of them make their way to the lecture hall.

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

From inside the hall, all of the uproar from just outside the school is silent. Attention is rapt as Evelyn thanks everyone for taking the time to be in attendance, explaining the process for how the proceedings will operate. They will be going mainly off of character witnesses and discussing the logistics of the enrollment process at Adams, all to determine whether junior student Lucas James Friar can keep his coveted spot -- or if someone, such as Missy Bradford, has the right to demand it for herself.

There are about nine school board members present, including Rand and Graham. It’s near impossible for there to be a tie or hung jury in this situation, so this should wrap by the end of the day. One key board member who gets focus is HARRISON YANCY, another older gentleman who is eyeing Lucas with cautious distaste.

Still, they only need to convince five. If five people can see the grander implications of this situation, then Lucas won’t be going anywhere.

Evelyn requests that each of the cases make their main argument as opening statements. Anne Marie rises first, laying down the perspective of the Bradford prosecution. As she starts to speak, highlighting the favoritism and unprofessionalism that permeates Jack Hunter’s enrollment procedures and running of AAA, Lucas frowns and leans over to whisper to Jack.

Lucas: Isn’t that your --

Yes, Lucas. Yes, it is. Jack merely shakes his head at him. Not now. Anne Marie maintains her professionalism, delivering the opposition with cool authority and seemingly no personal bias attached. Lucas does not deserve his spot at Adams, and there are plenty of well-intentioned and talented individuals -- such as Miss Bradford -- who deserve their chance at his spot. Especially since they can afford to pay for it.

Jack rises to give their case, explaining that this is an issue that should have never escalated to this sort of ordeal. They have their enrollment procedures, which have never been an issue for the over 50 years that AAA has existed. Lucas is not a mastermind but a strawman, a scapegoat the Bradfords are using to get their way by digging into the personal life of an 18-year-old student who has put his time and effort into the community here -- just not in such obviously visible ways as some of his peers. Missy glances at Lucas from her spot at the table, eyeing him with mild interest.

Then Jack emphasizes the precedent this decision will set, the much larger implications and overarching impact removing Lucas to suit the needs of a demanding pocketbook might have.

Certainly much to think about on both sides. It’s time to hear from the masses.

The sequence passes in a montage, different characters taking the podium as Anne Marie and Jack call them to speak on Lucas’s time at Adams. One is HARLEY KEINER, called in by the Bradfords to discuss the time Lucas spent living in the technician’s booth -- a misuse of school property. Harley admits that’s true, and he took the steps necessary to stop it, as did Jack.

But then when Jack gets the chance to question him, Harley points out that Lucas never purposefully misused or damaged any equipment. He was always quite respectful of the more serious items in their shared spaces, and while yes, a desk or house seat here and there might have suffered vandalism, Lucas isn’t the only student who has messed with school property.

When CORY MATTHEWS is called to speak on Lucas’s academics, he admits to the Bradford’s points that Lucas does have an iffy attendance record. However, his grades are still sharp, some of the best in the junior class. Better than half of the performing students, as it were. This seems to be a good point for the defense… until Anne Marie points out that if his grades are so good, then he’d presumably be fine at any school -- least of all a school for the arts when he doesn’t care about the arts.

Additionally, Anne Marie manages to twist Cory’s words. She gets him confused or contradicting himself, effectively making his somewhat helpful testimony rather useless by the end. Jack shakes his head, frustrated.

However, it’s not a complete loss. They manage to come back when Yindra takes the stand, acting as the character witness for the Junior A Class. While Anne Marie expects it to be a pretty easy win -- they definitely have the impression that the performers are not fond of Lucas -- Yindra throws a curveball by actually carrying the opinion that Lucas should stay.

Yindra: Don’t get me wrong, Friar is obnoxious. And yeah, most of us spent the first two years of our time here wondering what he was even doing here. But he’s great at what he does, and he’s a major part of the reason anything gets done around here. When he shows up, he shows up, and our productions are good enough evidence of that. I don’t know if he got his place here in the same way the rest of us did, but he’s certainly earned it since that time.

That’s a good point. The board takes careful note, and as they’re transitioning for their next witness Jack tells Lucas that things are looking good. There have been some unexpected turns, but they’re not out of the running by a long shot.

That is, until Anne Marie calls her next testimony. WYATT LIVINGSTON enters from the hall, back after a year to finally get his revenge on Lucas James Friar. We don’t even have to see the testimony to know it’s not going to be good.

Lucas gives Jack a wide-eyed look as Wyatt takes to the podium. What are they going to do about that? Anne Marie asks if Wyatt will be honest in his account, and give an accurate portrayal of Lucas during their time at AAA together. When he agrees, she tees him up, wondering if he has anecdotes he could share with the school board about Mister Friar.

Wyatt looks right at Lucas, a smug smile ghosting over his lips.

Wyatt: Plenty.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Following a couple more witnesses, the trial breaks for lunch. Lucas is pacing outside the lecture hall, almost bumping into Missy as she emerges to depart for a quick lunch.

The two of them size each other up for the first time, Lucas obviously not taking kindly to the entitled bitch gunning to take his spot. Missy, on the other hand, doesn’t seem at all disappointed to meet him. In fact, from the way she’s looking him over as she thinly apologizes for all the fuss this has caused, saying she has interest in him might just be the tip of the iceberg.

Missy: I’ll admit, I don’t think photos do you justice. And I didn’t expect things to get so very complicated. All the things everyone is saying about you, all the conflicting accounts… fascinating. Isn’t it? Things might have gone differently, had I known our chosen subject was so… provocative.

Lucas is not impressed. He remains stone-faced as Missy’s father beckons her, off for their relaxing, carefree meal.

Jack and Eric emerge from the lecture hall, joining Lucas in the midst of their conversation. They agree that in opposition to the surprise of Wyatt, they’re going to need an equally compelling testimony to throw them off. Eric claims he’s already on it, brewing with an idea.

Wyatt exits from the lecture hall, sauntering his way through the halls of the school that so easily dropped him like a king. He nods to Lucas with a smirk, cocky with long-awaited victory.

Wyatt: See you out there when they dump you on your ass too, Friar.

Lucas scowls, nearly lunging on instinct. But Jack pulls him back, restraining him and firmly stating that’s exactly what Wyatt wants him to do. The last thing they need is to give the opposition any more fodder to play with in their court.

EXT. AAA - DAY

Meanwhile, the student protests are well on their way. People have guitars, are waving their home-made signs proudly, listening to the speeches and performances while lounging around on the steps and on the lawn of the school. It’s somewhere between a social march and like… Woodstock. It’s a snapshot of the 60s youth movements, only 60 years later.

Nearby, Isadora is fielding questions from reporters. She’s doing an excellent job considering her usual aversion to the spotlight -- Valerie would be proud!

A couple of seniors are at the megaphone at the moment, giving Riley a chance to regroup. But she’s far from relaxed, unable to take her eyes off the school as she sips water. Dylan and Asher wander over to join her, commending her for staying hydrated and wondering how she thinks everything is going.

Outside? Fine. Inside… she has no idea, and that’s clearly what they all actually care about. It’s a minimal relief when Yindra steps out from the atrium, jogging down the steps to come and join them after her testimony. Riley asks how it’s going in there, and she informs them that they brought Wyatt back as a character witness.

Riley, Asher, and Dylan: Wyatt?

Riley: How is that an unbiased opinion?

Asher: Oh, so he really wants to get punched again?

Dylan, softly: [ taking Asher’s shoulders and rubbing them soothingly ] Easy there, bird bones.

Yindra: Believe me, it’s ridiculous and we all know it. But the school board doesn’t, although hopefully some of them are aware of Wyatt’s own history at Triple A.

Otherwise, it’s hard to say how the tides are shifting. But the stuff they’re doing out here is good regardless. She heard some of the board discussing it while she was on her way out. They’re making a point, if nothing else.

Across the lawn, some of the performers are discussing the importance of the protest despite their apparent nonchalance as they recline in the shade. Maya is laying with her head in Farkle’s lap, boldly declaring that although Lucas is the worst ninety percent of the time, she might actually miss him if they decide to oust him unfairly.

Before Farkle can respond, Eric comes over to join them. He asks if he can borrow Farkle for a moment, Maya offhandedly complaining that he’ll be taking her pillow, but letting him go. He gets to his feet, walking slowly back towards the steps as Eric engages him in conversation.

He gets right to the point, pitching that Farkle consider being their last character witness for the trial. It’s a big favor to ask, and Farkle seems confused by the request. Partially because it’s a lot of responsibility to take on, but also…

Farkle: How could that possibly be a good idea? Lucas and I have hated each other since we met.

Eric: I know. They know that too, so you getting up there at the podium and stating that he deserves to stay?

Could be a checkmate. A risky gambit, that’s for sure, but maybe exactly the counterpoint they need. If Farkle, who was tormented by Lucas in their bewildering hate war of three years, can testify that he still deserves his place here…

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Still, it’s a lot to ask. Eric is aware of that, especially if Farkle doesn’t really believe it. He would try to sell him on the other aspects to the case he obviously agrees with, like the precedent thing, but more so Eric understands that it might be too much to ask. He’s not going to try and bribe him into it.

Eric: I don’t want you to feel pressured to do so. I know how complicated your dynamic is, and you certainly don’t owe him anything. I wouldn’t want you to get up there and say something you don’t mean.

Farkle: Do you think it’ll make a difference? Like, for real?

Eric, honest: I don’t know. But it’s basically the only idea I’ve got left. [ patting his shoulder ] Do whatever you’re comfortable with. I just knew that if I didn’t ask, I’d regret it. I appreciate you considering it, either way.

Eric backs off, leaving him to ruminate on it. Farkle stands frozen in the hall, slowly succumbing to contemplation as the world around him begins to dim and fade away.

In some ways, it feels like his entire rebirth act has been leading to something like this. Does he want to play it safe, staying comfortably in the background of the cause -- or does he put himself right in the line of fire? Does he pay forward an act of kindness to someone who has given him nothing but grief -- or does he take the opportunity to get final cosmic payback? Or, in an effort to truly look out for himself as he’s always known, does he do absolutely nothing?

The time has come to decide if he’s truly going to repent, or if he’s going to run yet again.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Monster” as performed by Frozen Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus

If there’s a song where lyrics hit pointedly this episode, this would be it. Farkle grapples with all of the uncertainty and confliction he’s felt about his own sense of self since the end of last season -- is he doomed to be a monster, acting selfishly and reactively as everyone casted him? And if he is nothing but a monster… does he kill it?

All this pain, all this fear began because of me Is the thing they see, the thing I have to be?

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

As the march bit starts, we throw between the protests going on outside with their chants and Jack reconvening with key board members. The “no harm comes to him” belongs to Jack, obviously speaking on behalf of Lucas.

Farkle is the focus again on the second verse, dramatically making his way through the halls as he tears himself up over the two parts of his identity.

Was I a monster from the start? How did I end up with this frozen heart? Bringing destruction to the stage Caught in a war that I never meant to wage

He bursts through the doors to the dressing room hall --

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And ends up on the stage, nothing but a spotlight illuminating him as he settles into the softer bridge. When he speaks to his father, Stuart appears on his right and watches him wisely. There for Farkle to seek wisdom from… but not able to give him the answer.

Father, you know what's best for me If I die, will they be free?

Then he turns to his left, where JENNIFER MINKUS is watching him with love and pride. He seeks counsel from her too, wondering whether his silence will be just as destructive as his active mistakes of the past.

Mother, what if after I'm gone The cold gets colder and the storm rages on?

Suddenly, the truth seems to hit him.

No! I’ve got to stay alive, to fix what I’ve done --

Farkle whips around and marches back through the wings, determination taking over his features. He travels through the darkness…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

And pushes back out into the hallway for the final verse, reaching his decision. Maybe he’s a monster -- maybe he’s always destined to be broken, selfish, a little bit off and a little bit wrong. But when opportunities are presented to him to make a difference, he can choose to make a difference. He can choose to speak out, even when it’s complicated. Even when it’s not in his own self-interest.

As he sings the final resounding note, we cut between him stomping his way towards the lecture hall and belting in the spotlight center stage. It’s powerful in the same way his performance of “Santa Fe” was, only this time it’s not defeat provoking the emotion.

Farkle looks to the school board members standing outside the lecture hall, everyone reconvening for final testimonies. Then he pushes through the doors and marches inside, disappearing behind them.

Jack is rushing back to the lecture hall, nearly bumping into Anne Marie. They both apologize until they realize who they’ve bumped into, growing colder. Jack claims this is a low move, and a bit hypocritical considering how she’s always talking about professionalism. Anne Marie scoffs, rolling her eyes.

Anne Marie: It’s just a job, Jack. They presented a case that I happen to agree with, and paid me a fair amount of money for my services.

Jack: Oh, I’m sure they did.

Anne Marie: It’s not personal, Principal Hunter. [ shortly ] Unlike you’re so convinced everything is.

She pushes through the doors, leaving him behind. Jack forces himself to take a deep breath, cooling his temper and stepping in after her.

EXT. AAA - DAY

While the war rages on, Zay is distracted by a call on his phone. He waits for a voicemail, although he recognizes the number as the same one who gave him the information about his callback. More likely than not, this is whether or not he actually got the part.

He moves away from the crowd, taking refuge down by the bottom steps. Releasing a sigh, he holds his breath when the voicemail comes through and raises the phone to his ear to listen.

After a long moment, a huge grin spreads across his face. He almost falls over, reaching out for the banister by the stairs for support.

Zay: Holy shit. Holy shit!

Charlie notices his outburst, jogging down the steps and asking him what’s going on. He stammers out half an explanation that makes absolutely zero sense before Zay manages to find the words, telling him that he got the part. He got the role in the Off-Broadway production.

Charlie’s jaw drops. He takes Zay’s shoulders.

Charlie: Oh my God. [ happier ] Oh my God!

In the excitement, they embrace, and it’s not the end of the world. In that moment, it’s just a moment of pure joy, shared between two good friends. When they pull apart, Charlie has a million questions.

Charlie: Well, what’s the role? What’s the schedule like? When are performances going to be?

Zay: I -- [ breathless ] I don’t know! I still have to accept the role.

Charlie: … okay? Okay, well, do it! Call them right now!

Although he’s clearly thrilled, Zay claims he can’t just do that. When Charlie asks why not, Zay sort of shrugs and states that he just needs to think about it. You know, gotta consider all the factors before making a decision like this. Charlie stares at him like he’s crazy, wondering when the hell Zay Babineaux suddenly became hesitant.

Then realization washes over him. He did that. Zay was never an overthinker… until they got together. When Charlie became a priority, and dragged along all his baggage and conditions and trained hesitancy with him.

Zay isn’t paying attention to his change in demeanor, still smiling as he glances down at his phone. He’ll probably accept it, of course, but… it’s just an honor to have gotten an offer. Crazy, how quickly things can change like this. Isn’t it?

Charlie, blankly: … crazy.

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Farkle has taken to the podium, Lucas looking less than thrilled at his presence. How he could possibly help his case, he has no idea, and from how flatly Farkle is answering Anne Marie and Jack’s questions it doesn’t seem like he’s all that intent on selling Lucas’s good merits.

Anne Marie isn’t going easy on him either. To her, this sudden additional testimony is a fumble on the defense, and she’s going to milk Lucas and Farkle’s problematic dynamic for everything it’s worth. Although Farkle gives his point about how he was responsible for half of their tangles and certainly acted as a provocateur, Anne Marie still uses it to craft a more unfavorable impression of Lucas.

However, after a certain point, Farkle has had enough. That’s when the tables really start to turn, just when Anne Marie and the Bradfords think his presence is a home run for them.

Farkle: Miss Winthrop -- ladies and gentlemen of the school board -- I’m going to be fully honest. It’s a creed I picked up after my failed suicide attempt, which I know you’re aware of since you elected to feature it in one of your articles.

Lucas, under his breath: Oh, God.

Anne Marie: Certainly. By all means, Mister Minkus.

Farkle: Here’s the read. Lucas James Friar sucks. I think you’ve proven that well enough this afternoon, and I wasn’t even here. It’s not hard to prove -- he sucks. There’s a reason I spent three years calling him “Jackass.”

Anne Marie: Yes, I think we’ve made that quite clear. Thank you --

Farkle: But I suck, too.

Anne Marie: … I’m sorry?

The tension in the room shifts somewhat. Jack raises his eyebrows -- Lucas stares at Farkle, not sure what to expect.

Farkle: I suck just as much as he does. I mean, I’m a fucking monster. [ pausing ] Sorry, is cursing allowed? If not, you can strike that from the record.

Evelyn: Go on, Mister Minkus.

Farkle: Point is, I’m a menace. We all hated Lucas, but everyone hated me too. And my best friend, Maya Hart, she’s an absolute maniac. Cut-throat, calculating, could and would throw me off the catwalk if it would help her career. But damn, is she talented. So am I, in theory. And so is Lucas, just not in the same way. It pains me, I mean, truly pains me to say this, but we would not have pulled off half the things we did in the three years we’ve been here if it weren’t for him and the way he leads the student technicians.

Well. This is taking an unexpected turn. The school board sits up straighter in their seats, leaning forward with interest. Anne Marie glances at them, then back at Farkle, trying to anticipate where this is going and develop a counterpoint. The Bradfords seem just as unsettled as Lucas and Jack -- there’s really no way to determine where this will end up.

Farkle: So yes. Lucas sucks. It’s not hard to prove that. But so do I. So does Maya. So does most of the student body. The way I see it, I think you need to reevaluate what this whole trial is even trying to determine. What credentials are you measuring Lucas against? Because if it’s like… merit or being a good person, then that’s not unique to Lucas James Friar. If you’re deciding whether someone should be allowed to stay because they’re a good person, then the school should just shut down. No one here is perfect, and you could put any one of us in that seat and debate for hours whether we deserve the right to be here.

The board takes this in, murmuring amongst themselves. Evelyn eyes Farkle with keen interest, obviously intrigued by what he has to say.

Farkle: And if you remove that element, well… [ plainly ] Then I’m not sure you’ve got a case at all.  

Okay, now there’s a strong statement. Missy narrows her eyes, not all that fond of this Farkle Minkus kid. He remains impressively calm though, not at all smug as he harpoons half of their case against Lucas.

But Anne Marie is a skilled lawyer, and she’s not going to let this knock her off her game. She waves him off, turning to the board.

Anne Marie: Thought-provoking perspective. [ with a shrug ] But hardly relevant.

Jack: Are you kidding me?

Lucas jumps, surprised by Jack’s outburst. He rises to his feet, leveling his glare with Anne Marie’s.

Jack: This entire debate has been matters of opinion! You can’t just dismiss one important testimony because it doesn’t align with your case.

Anne Marie: Well, I think then perhaps we should at least consider the suspiciously late addition to the schedule Mister Minkus demonstrated. One has to wonder what sort of last minute desperate maneuver… in a school full of actors, a favor or a bribe --

Jack, scoffing: Bribe? The Bradford prosecution is going to lecture the board about bribery?

Well, that escalated quickly. Evelyn regains control of the room before anything more can be said, hurting either of their cases. She urges them to maintain their professionalism, but it’s clear people are heated on all sides. Lucas looks like he’s going to be sick.

Evelyn declares that they will take a ten minute recess, and then come back together for closing statements. She personally feels they won’t need much else after all the other discussion they’ve heard today.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack and Lucas have regrouped in his office, Jack pacing and lamenting the tactics that the Bradfords and Anne Marie have stooped to in this process. This isn’t a fair process, this is a circus, that much is certain.

Lucas isn’t contributing to the vent session. He’s not fired up like Jack, but he’s no longer mutedly resigned either -- the reality of the situation is finally starting to hit him, and that resignation is bubbling into panic.

Lucas: I’m leaving Triple A.

Jack: It’s not over yet.

Lucas is pacing now too, but it’s not strident like Jack’s. He’s fretful, hands shaking, like an animal trapped in a cage. He’s been cornered, and he can’t hold back the fear no matter how badly he tries.

Jack: Lucas, breathe --

Lucas, shaky: They’re going to send me back to Quincy. [ choking on it ] I can’t go back. I can’t --

Jack: Lucas -- hey. Hey!

Jack crosses the room to meet him, taking his shoulders and forcing him to stop. He gets him to look at him.

Jack, fiercely: Listen to me! I am not going to let anything happen to you. Do you understand? Anything!

Lucas stares at him, still trembling.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Eric is rushing through the halls, Charlie running in from the entrance. He tries to catch up to him, claiming he needs to talk to him. Eric states that things are a bit high pressure at the moment, and almost dismisses him, but Charlie pleads his case.

Charlie: Please, Mister Matthews! It’s important.

Eric hesitates, looking at him and contemplating. Then he nods, gesturing for him to walk with him. Charlie jogs to catch up.

EXT. AAA - DAY

Farkle has rejoined the performers, recounting his testimony and how the place basically exploded before he left. Isadora asks if he thinks that’s a good thing or bad, and he honestly has no clue. It’s all so arbitrary anyway, it’s just going to come down to how people decide to vote.

Maya admits that she’s surprised Farkle testified in favor of Lucas. Like, she does get it, but truthfully she’s not even sure she would’ve done the same. Farkle admits he wasn’t either at first, but he knows how much he’s changed in the course of a year. Maybe this time last year, he would’ve made a different choice… but that’s not who he is anymore. And he’d hate to be judged solely on the mistakes he’s made -- he doesn’t think Lucas deserves it either.

Zay nods in respect, giving him a solid low-five. Maya smiles and wraps her arms around Farkle’s, resting her chin against his shoulder in that way that’s starting to become an affectionate habit.

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Back in the proceedings, Anne Marie is wrapping up the closing statement for the Bradford case. It’s obvious that Lucas does not deserve his place at Adams, and someone like her client has a fair argument against the way Mister Hunter runs the school. And Missy Bradford can pay to attend it, so why should she be barred opportunities due to an arbitrary rule? If the counsel views the situation objectively, then there’s a clear sense of right and wrong in this scenario.

Well, no arguing with that last statement. The board finishes taking their notes, Evelyn turning the tables to Jack. He glances to Lucas, who is staring at the table and avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room.

Then he rises, walking around the table and thanking the board for the opportunity to make their case this afternoon. He starts by pointing out this whole situation is inane, considering he did make a decision in this regard that the Bradfords elected to ignore. He believes changing his stance on a rule for a few dollar signs would set a dangerous precedent, especially when it’s at the expense of another student -- regardless of the student. But hopefully, the board can identify that much for themselves.

Jack hesitates, contemplating for a moment. Speaking with confidence, he rounds out his statement.

Jack: Miss Winthrop is correct that there is a clear sense of right and wrong here. One that I feel strongly about, that I know will define my career regardless of the outcome this afternoon. So allow me to make that stance crystal clear. [ clasping his hands together ] Should you decide to remove Mister Friar from Adams Academy of the Arts for something as twisted as this, then I hope you’re prepared to find a new head administrator. Because I would resign and step down from my position, effective as soon as that decision is reached.

A ripple of shock runs through the room. Lucas lifts his head, horrified. The board is stunned by the stunt, not sure how to react -- although it seems as though Evelyn Rand might be holding back a chuckle. Anne Marie and the Bradfords are particularly incensed, identifying the emotional power play for what it is. Not logic, that’s for sure.

But Jack isn’t trying to act like it is. He maintains his professional demeanor.

Jack: That’s all. I’m sure you have plenty to consider moving forward.

Jack returns to his seat next to Lucas, not allowing his facade to crack even a bit. Lucas is still in shock, staring at him with dread. Unable to believe that he would go down on this sinking ship with him.

EXT. AAA - DAY

Isadora finds Riley in the crowd, claiming that the proceedings have wrapped and now they’re just awaiting final verdict. If Riley is going to address the press -- and Isadora clearly thinks she should -- now is the time.

She nods, returning to the spotlight section and taking the microphone from Nigel. Once she’s sure she’s gotten the attention of the media, Riley launches into her final speech of the protest. She reiterates all of the points that they and Jack have been making all afternoon, with that special spark only Riley Matthew can deliver.

Then she claims she wants to address the board, and the Bradfords, directly. She states that they can make whatever decision they choose, that’s obviously out of their control. But if they think they can remove one of their own and this will just go away, then they’re dead wrong.

Riley: This school is built on the power of our voices, and we will never stop using them. [ impassioned ] If you choose profit over the people, then mark my words, you will never stop hearing from the people.

It’s a compelling moment, and the passion with which Riley delivers it makes the threat damn believable. A modern day mockingjay…

Riley is done, but her classmates pick up the slack. The chant arises in the crowd again: People over profit! People over profit. People --

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

In contrast to the riot just outside, the auditorium is hauntingly quiet. All the energy that usually commands it day-by-day is being expended elsewhere, leaving it empty and hushed.

Which is precisely why Lucas is there. He’s seated on the floor in front of the center back section of the house where the techies usually congregate, arms wrapped around his knees. Absorbing the temporary peace and the strange belonging he’s always felt in the auditorium, regardless of how many highs and lows have occurred inside of it.

A door opens from behind him, and Isadora appears at his side a few seconds later. She doesn’t say anything, dropping down next to him and tilting her head back against the section panel.

After a moment, she reaches out and places her hand on his knee. She doesn’t offer anything more than that, but the message is loud and clear.

Asher: Mind if we join you?

Lucas and Isadora look up, Asher and Dylan walking hand-in-hand in their direction. Lucas nods and they settle down across from him, sharing in the silent support. Wanting to be with him in these last moments, regardless of where he goes from here.

Lucas, to Dylan: Heard you were a pretty good captain in my absence.

Dylan shrugs humbly. Asher smiles at him, but someone beats him to a confirmation.

Jade: He was.

Lucas looks to his left, and there they are. Jade, Nate, Jeff, and Dave, also having found their way to him. They join the sit-in without another word, completing the circle. All of them together in solidarity, a complete set for the first time in months.

They sit in the silence for a long time. Then Dave breaks it, releasing a sigh.

Dave: Fucking capitalism, man.

The declaration hangs in the air for a long moment. Then Lucas lets out a laugh -- exhausted, but acknowledging how ridiculous this whole thing is. Taking comfort in Dave’s unique brand of eccentricity, as he always has.

And when it starts, the laughter is contagious. Before long the entire techie crew is laughing, sharing a moment of levity in spite of how heavy the situation feels. Finding reprieve in one another, as they have for the last three years.

Isadora jostles Lucas’s knee, shaking her head as she chuckles. Asher leans into Dylan’s shoulder. Jade hugs Dave’s side affectionately, playfully nudging Nate’s foot away as he attempts to kick at Jeff and Dave across the circle.

Charlie, pre-lap: Say what you want about Triple A, but the best thing about it is the people. Even when they’re the worst.

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

Charlie is seated across from Eric, speaking with more certainty than he ever has in his office. This time it’s his choice to be there, talking through everything he’s been tossing around in his head for months. He’s in the midst of trying to provide full context for what he needs help with.

Charlie: I know that better than anybody, and that’s part of what made applying somewhere else so hard. Like, why would I leave Adams? Everything I care about is here. Everyone I love is here. [ a beat ] I mean, I know why. I applied because I was scared. At the time, I fucked up, and made choices that hurt someone I love. And I thought the only way to deal with that was to run from it -- because I’ve been doing that my entire life, for as long as I can remember. Running, rather than facing the truth.

Eric listens patiently, giving Charlie all the time he needs to process.

Charlie: The more I think about it, the more I think love in it of itself is inherently selfish. And that’s weird, because love is supposed to be the ultimate virtue, you know? But it’s so dangerous, when you let it get out of control. It’s… it’s looking at something or someone and saying I like that thing so much, I want it all to myself. I want it always, I want it to be mine. And that’s selfish. [ shakily ] And for a person who tries really damn hard to be good, and virtuous, it’s amazing how much of a contradiction I can be. Perfect and polished on the outside, but one crack from breaking to pieces on the inside. Acting like I care about Christian values, about helping others, when it took me way longer than anybody else to determine that even showing up for someone else could be the right choice if it put me in any sort of jeopardy. Being so consumed by this thing that’s supposed to be the most powerful good there is, consumed by love, but somehow twisting it into a selfish thing. Loving but with conditions attached, keeping it secret, holding that love so tightly in my grip that they can’t even remember how to move freely anymore. All because I’m selfish, and I’m a coward. I’m so scared of the truth -- of who I am, the selfishness and… and being gay --

The moment passes without consequence, but Eric doesn’t overlook the importance of the statement. It’s the first time Charlie has openly stated his sexuality, and the first time he’s shared it with someone by his own choice.

Charlie: -- that I’m constantly running, only now I realize I’ve been dragging everyone else along behind me while I do it. I’m running, and running, and they’re the ones getting the bruises and the scuffs and the dirt while I get to maintain my squeaky clean, inoffensive persona. [ a deep breath ] And I don’t want to be that way. I’m done being that way... but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next.

Eric thanks Charlie for sharing all of that with him, and delicately states that he has to admit he thinks he is being too hard on himself. Everything Charlie is experiencing is a pretty universal human sensation, at one point or another. It’s definitely good to recognize you have faults, but to flip the script and make yourself the inevitable villain at every turn won’t help anyone either.

Eric: You’re not a saint, Charlie. You’re human, and part of being human is being imperfect. Making mistakes, hurting others, making the same mistakes again.

Charlie wipes at his eyes, not even realizing he’s crying until the tears are on his cheeks.

Eric: Acknowledging those mistakes is the first step -- and it seems like you’ve mastered that. What matters most is what you do to repair those mistakes, and that just comes down to a whole other series of choices.

Active choices. Choosing to be good, to care about others and help whenever you can. Charlie absorbs this, accepting the tissue Eric hands him with an embarrassed laugh.

All of that aside… Eric curiously asks what Charlie thinks about the Haverford offer. He went out for the opportunity at first because he was scared -- a mistake, it seems, in his eyes. But all that matters is what he does next… so what is he thinking about that?

Charlie lists all the pros and cons he’s been weighing in the last couple months. The chance to start new, to prove himself capable, to try something new and grow in a different way -- versus the home and family he’s built at AAA. The bananas chaos he’s grown fond of, and the people he doesn’t want to leave. Especially that...

Charlie: I started this whole thing because I messed up with the person I love the most, and I wanted to escape the consequences. [ a beat ] But now… I’m still being selfish. Because I thought I was setting him free, letting him go, but somehow I’m still holding him back. It’s like… as long as I’m here, and we’re together, I’m never going to let go of that leash. I don’t want it to be that way. I don’t want to leave, but… I don’t want to let this keep going.

Eric processes this. It’s a tricky situation, that’s for sure, especially while Charlie is in such a harsh emotional place.

Then, a lightbulb seems to go off in Eric’s head. He’s hesitant to speak on it, but Charlie can sense the change in his expression.

Charlie: You have an idea. [ expectant ] What are you thinking?

Eric pauses, still hesitant. Having this conversation with another student seems like a lot to ask… but all Charlie wants is to accomplish something exactly like this. Despite being torn, Eric forces himself to speak up.

Eric: I’m just thinking… no solution will be perfect. I can tell you that with certainty. But if you’re willing to consider it… I think we might be able to solve more than one problem if we work together. Are you good with that?

Silence hangs over them as Charlie contemplates, running through all of the possibilities in his head as he’s so well-trained to do. Then, something in his expression hardens.

Active choices. Helping others, even when it’s inconvenient for yourself. Especially then.

Charlie, with a nod: Tell me what I can do.

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

The board has reassembled, Evelyn rising to address the room. It’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. Missy and her father seem relaxed, prepared for victory -- Lucas and Jack are experts at restraint, expressions neutral and braced for the worst.

Evelyn gives a short speech about how odd and unique this whole experience has been in the long history of her career as a school board member. She’s honestly had an opinion of her own basically since this story first dropped, but as top member of the board she places a deep value in letting each of her fellow delegates get the chance to speak their mind. It’s a principle she highly regards, a precedent she intends to set in stone.

That being said, both cases raised important and interesting points. There’s a lot of subjects raised during discussion today that might warrant more conversation in the future, and because of that it’s no surprise to her that the vote was so closely split.

Lucas grits his teeth, clenching his fist on his knee. Jack gently reaches over and touches his wrist, getting him to unclench his grip.

Evelyn: So, let’s allow this to set a precedent as well. In a 5-4 vote… the school board has voted in favor of Adams and Principal Jackson Hunter.

A wave of surprise crashes through the room. Lucas and Jack are both surprised, watching Evelyn with wide eyes.

Evelyn: A decision was made, and to allow Miss Bradford into the school by the means presented today would set an example the school board ultimately does not wish to support. Lucas James Friar, enjoy your senior year at Adams Academy for the Arts. [ nonchalantly ] This meeting is adjourned.

Anne Marie is disgusted, obviously miffed that emotion was the winning maneuver. Missy looks about ready to throw a hissy fit, and Carson is already placating her.

Lucas and Jack both get to their feet, and for a moment, it seems as though they might do something insane like hug. But Jack settles for a bracing shoulder pat instead, the smile on his face wholly genuine.

Jack: Looking forward to one more year.

Lucas scoffs out a laugh, still stuck in disbelief. He blankly states that he has to go tell the others -- he’s got to tell Dora and Asher and Dylan. Jack nods him onward and lets him go, Lucas disappearing through the doors.

EXT. AAA - DAY

The crowd has grown restless, awaiting any sort of news. Zay has his arm around Riley, comforting her as her nerves start to overcome her resolve.

Dave pushes through the doors, all attention to turning to him. He pauses for a long second, and then pumps his fist in victory when he claims they won. Lucas isn’t going anywhere -- and the people prevailed!

It’s instant revelry. The assembled crowd erupts into cheers, transitioning right into celebration. Zay and Riley hug, the former picking her up and spinning her. The A class performers embrace and jump around. Maya lets out a theatrical war cry.

Farkle and Isadora embrace, only realizing that’s weird until they’re a few seconds into it. Farkle pulls back and clears his throat, Isadora stating she should text her mom the good news. He nods, agreeing that she should do that. She steps away, shifting her focus to her phone.

The last response she got from Valerie was a couple days ago, encouraging her to fight the good fight and to let her know everything that happens. Isadora has given her updates since then, but she sends this update with an excited flourish.

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Evelyn approaches, congratulating Jack on a fight well fought. She had little doubt he would pull through, of course, and she’s always greatly admired his strong belief system... it’s a wonder who that deciding vote came down to…

Still, even in the midst of the celebration, Evelyn has to deliver a caution. She drops her voice down to a murmur, warning Jack that the stunt he pulled today isn’t going to just evaporate. The other school board members who voted against him are not pleased, and there will be consequences for the way he handled it.

Pointedly, Jefferson Graham and Harrison Yancy send a pointed glare in his direction as they discuss amongst themselves. Jack swallows, disappointed but not surprised.

Evelyn: Questions have risen as to how Adams is run, Jackson. [ empathetically ] You need to prepare for a whole lot of change.

Well, that’s pleasant and not ominous at all. Off of Jack’s bittersweet expression…

EXT. AAA - DAY

For how all-consuming the Bradford debacle was the day before, it’s impressive how quickly life returns to a state of equilibrium. The formerly crowded and riotous scene of student protest is calm and clean come Friday morning, the school year scheduled to wrap up as normal in the last couple of days next week. As if nothing happened, like life has proceeded as normal this entire time.

But it did happen. History was made at AAA, and no one is likely to forget it any time soon. As for what happens next…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Farkle is at his locker, getting the chance to clean it out this year. He takes delicate care to put his photos of his friends safely away in the front pocket of his backpack. As Nigel and Yogi pass him in the hall, they offer him friendly pats on the back and the promise to catch him in class. Still a couple performances and classes left to round out the year.

And boy, what a year it has been. Farkle takes in the halls around him, remembering how for a while there, there was a real chance he was never going to come back into these halls. Grateful, it seems, that he’s still there.

Isadora approaches, leaning against the locker next to him. She states how weird it is that so much can happen one day, and then school can just proceed as normal the next.

Farkle: Well, only a couple more days of that. For now.

Isadora: It’s just strange. How quickly things change. Instantaneous, really.

No doubt about that. After a moment, Isadora shifts topics and thanks Farkle for his testimony. She figures it probably wasn’t easy for him to come to that decision, given their history. Obviously, there’s no way to know if it really made a difference… but it was something. He spoke up, in a moment where it might’ve really mattered. Farkle shrugs, thoughtful.

Farkle: You know, this time last year, everything fell apart because I made a selfish move. I was thinking of me, just me, and I sure paid the consequences for that. [ a beat ] A lot has changed since then, but it’s easy to say things have changed rather than prove it. A theory needs evidence to be proven, after all.

Isadora: Naturally.

Farkle: Can’t know for sure without repeated trials, but… I figure choosing to make the choice that wasn’t directly beneficial to me is probably a good sample of evidence. My hypothesis is that things held together because we held together. [ certain ] And I’ll take that conclusion over last year’s any day.

Isadora examines him, a smile that might be described as fond creeping onto her face. Farkle closes his locker, raising his eyebrows at her before leading the way down the hall.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Delicate” as performed by Damien Rice || Performed by Asher Garcia (feat. Dylan Orlando)

Yes, classes are still in session for a few more days, and there are still some lingering final performances to wrap up. Asher performs the ballad as his final project, bending the rules just slightly so that Dylan can be up there with him to back him up. No one tries to argue him on it -- Dylan and Asher are undeniably better together, after all.

Dylan sits behind him on a stool, playing the acoustic guitar. Asher’s vocals are soft, imbued with a sense of peace it feels like we haven’t felt all season. As the other orchestration comes into play, Haley, Clarissa, and Nigel are backing him on the strings instruments for the full effect.

The performance also doubles as the score for the next scene, setting the mood aptly...

INT. AAA - TEACHER’S LOUNGE - DAY

Riley is fighting with the protest signs, attempting to put them in the large closet in the teacher’s lounge for safe-keeping. But they’re hard to handle all on her own, and there’s a lot of them, and only so much closet space. The unglamorous part of an impassioned protest -- the clean-up.

Lucas pokes his head into the doorway, grateful to have found her. He asks what she’s doing and she jumps, just looking at him for a moment. Soaking up the fact that he’s still there -- that he gets to still be there, for at least a while longer. Then she clears her throat, explaining her battle with the posters and signs.

Riley: Eric said we should keep them, for posterity and all that, and also because you never know when you’ll have another student protest. Reduce, reuse, recycle.

Lucas: Sure.

Riley: And I was in total agreement, but now that I’m here actually trying to get them all to stay put…

Lucas: Do you want some help?

Riley blinks. Surprised by the offer, even though she doesn’t know why. She shouldn’t be, not from him.

Riley: Sure. Sure, that would be great.

Lucas comes over to join her, rolling up his sleeves and helping tackle the stubborn protest memorabilia. They manage to complete the task as a team, stuffing it all into the closet and shutting the door firmly to seal it inside.

Riley: Wouldn’t want to be the teacher who opens that at the start of next term.

Lucas laughs, earning a bashful smile from Riley. There’s a lingering moment between them, and then Lucas asks why Riley went to so much effort in the first place.

Lucas: You really didn’t have to do all that.

Riley: I know. I don’t have to do anything. [ off his eye roll ] But of course I did. I wasn’t going to just do nothing.

Fair enough, but not exactly an explanation. When Lucas eyes her expectantly, she sighs, crossing her arms and shrugging. Knowing he can tell there’s more to it, but not sure there’s a way to articulate it.

Riley: It just wasn’t right. Everything they were doing. Putting you on blast to gain something for themselves, exploiting your personal difficulties for themselves --

Lucas: Well, hard to say I didn’t get myself into that.

Riley: But you didn’t deserve it, Lucas. No one deserves to be treated that way, even you. [ a beat, then softer ] Especially you.

That’s certainly a new take. Lucas absorbs the sentiment, holding her gaze. Trying to believe, for the first time, that maybe she’s right.

She looks away first, overwhelmed by the moment. She shrugs her shoulders again, still searching for what to say. The longer she rambles, the softer Lucas’s expression grows.

Riley: And I mean, they were just going to kick you out. And for what? Again, no one should have to worry about something like that, but… I mean, it’s you. And this is your home. [ a beat ] This is your home, and I wasn’t just going to let them take it from you.

Lucas, thoughtful: … I don’t think home is a place.

Riley lifts her gaze, meeting his eyes. Lucas lingers in looking at her for a moment longer, really looking at her… and then he closes the distance between them, pulling her into a kiss.

It takes a moment for Riley to catch up with what’s happening, almost in disbelief. But that only lasts a second, and she initiates the next kiss with double the enthusiasm and zero hesitation.

It’s about damn time.

They get lost in it, Riley wrapping her arms around his shoulders. They stumble a bit and back into the closet door, taking a moment to ground themselves. Still close together, foreheads touching, breathing shallow as they catch their breath.

Riley opens her eyes, taking him in while he’s so close and right there in front of her. Finally in her grasp, after the longest wait in the world.

Then, she laughs. Quiet, relieved, genuinely happy.

Lucas mirrors her smile, looking away shyly. Riley tilts his head back towards her to give him another slow kiss, which he happily accepts.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Dylan finishes out the last few riffs of the song, Asher watching him fondly with his chin propped on the microphone. He plays the last chord, then lifts his head to lock eyes with him. Dylan gives him a loving smile, pride shining in his eyes.

As it should be.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack finishes throwing out the last of the Bradford materials, settling down in his desk chair. He takes a moment to look around at his office… and then releases a sigh. Finally getting to breathe, after holding his breath for what feels like months.

Eric knocks lightly on his door, leaning against the doorframe and congratulating him.

Eric: I didn’t know you were a lawyer.

Jack: Ha ha ha… so very funny…

Eric can’t help but grin. Jack thanks him for all of his help -- he would not have been able to get through it without him.

Eric: Well, don’t give me too much credit. I’m not exactly a legal expert --

Jack: I’m not just talking about that, Eric.

Oh. Well… oh. If that doesn’t sum up how joined their work is, how this place really only runs because of one another… Eric nods bashfully, accepting the compliment. A moment lingers between them, but it’s not heavy. It’s something light, refreshing… something new between them, even if they don’t quite know how to define it yet.

Even still, Jack claims the show must go on. He highly doubts Missy Bradford is just going to let this thing die out -- considering all the trouble she went to this time around, he doesn’t see her giving up the crusade so easily. What baby wants, baby gets…

As it turns out, that’s something Eric wanted to talk to Jack about. He actually may have discovered a different compromise while Jack was going to court… not ideal, by any stretch of the imagination, but… Jack straightens up, curious and concerned.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

The A class is assembled, and it’s pointed just how different the energy in the room feels compared to the start of the year. There’s a real sense of camaraderie amongst them that was never there before, and the mood is light as they all chat before they’re dismissed.

That spirit only brightens when Riley and Lucas come through the door… holding hands. For a second everyone simply absorbs the sight… then Dylan gets to his feet, starting a slow clap. Dave joins in and before long the entire class is sarcastically applauding, Yogi wolf-whistling. Riley shakes her head and bites back a smile as she leads the way to their seats, Lucas flipping the techie crew off as they go.

Harper and Shawn take the stage, genuinely congratulating the class for getting through this hell year. It was tough -- for all of them, as the look Shawn and Harper exchange indicates -- but they survived it. They stretched themselves, they learned some hard lessons, and they grew stronger for it. They raised their voices, and it made a difference. The class breaks into applause again, Zay leaning forward to jostle Riley on the shoulder.

And with that, there’s not much more to say… except it’s a total mystery what the hell senior year will dish for them. There’s one more announcement they need to give… only it’s not their announcement to make. Harper passes the focus to Charlie, gesturing him forward as she and Shawn give him the floor.

Maya: [ under her breath, to Isadora ] I’m still trying to figure out when we gave him speaking privileges...?

The class is obviously at a loss for what Charlie could possibly be about to say. He’s never been one for grand gestures, but he’s up there now, addressing the full room of them. He starts by once again shouting out Riley and Isadora for the effort they put into the protest, and he mentions how inspiring it was to be a part of it and see what it really means to be selfless. To give so much of your time and energy to something you care about, not because it benefits you, but because it’s the right thing to do.

He’s also really happy that Lucas will get to stay at Adams.

Charlie: You’re a big part of the reason this class is as good as it is -- I mean, you all are. And God… is it a good class. Best thing I’ve ever been a part of by far. It’s no wonder Missy Bradford wanted in so badly.

From his tone, people are starting to get concerned. Haley and Clarissa are watching him curiously, wondering what’s going on. Riley frowns.

Riley: Charlie?

Charlie: Missy wanted to get into Triple A, and she wasn’t going to just stop at Lucas. I think we all know that. But the good news is, she’s not going to be coming after anyone else. [ a beat ] Missy isn’t going to come for anyone else’s spot in the senior class, because she’s taking mine. I’ll be transferring to Haverford Prep, starting in the fall.

The reaction from the A class is stunned, then uproarious. All of them protest, ranging from shocked outbursts to outright denials. Charlie tries to get them to calm down, trying to keep everything from derailing.

Dave: This rich bitch is begging to get egged.

Charlie shouts over them, getting them to pull it back together. He speaks with all the confidence he can muster, trying to be strong.

Charlie: It’s good, okay? It’s gonna be good. I think… I think the change will be good for me. And this way, no one else has to deal with the Bradfords --

Nate: Until we have to deal with her every day.

Clarissa: Yeah, Charlie, this isn’t fair. You’re part of the A class. You belong here.

Maybe so, Clarissa. Maybe so. Charlie’s facade cracks for the first time, hesitating when he tries to figure out how to respond.

Charlie, quietly: Sometimes the right thing isn’t always fair. But I want to do this. I’m making the choice… even if it’s not ideal for me.

It’s clear there will be no arguing this. He’s made up his mind, making the most selfless choice he thinks he possibly could by letting them go.

Charlie: But I asked Miss Burgess if it would be okay for me to do my final performance for you guys, even though it’s supposed to be one-on-one. If it was going to be my last one, I… I wanted to share it with you.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Take Care of Yourself” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Charlie Gardner

And what a final AAA performance he gives. Charlie effectively uses his swan song as a goodbye, his gentle and unassuming tenor creating the exact right feeling like a comforting hug. Even though all of them are stunned and some of his classmates are in tears -- as is he, by the end of the rendition -- he gives the distinct feeling that everything is going to be okay. It won’t be the same, but it will be okay. And that has to be enough.

He shares small moments with each of his major classmates -- Yindra, and Nigel. He accepts a tight hug from Clarissa. He shakes his head fondly at Haley as he sings the lyrics “no more tears to cry, I’m out of goodbyes,” wiping some of the tears from her cheeks.

She’s not the only one in tears. When he gets to Riley it gets harder to get through the performance, his voice cracking on the falsetto a bit as he takes her hand. She squeezes it tightly, mouthing an I love you before he pulls away. She shifts and hides her head in Lucas’s shoulder, who is still in complete disbelief.

By the time he gets back to the front and swivels to face them all again, there’s only one person left to address.

Zay has been silent the entire time, totally out of words. He’s just staring at Charlie, tears slipping down his cheeks even though it’s like he doesn’t know they’re there. He can’t process it. He can’t believe it’s actually happening.

But Charlie looks right at him as he sings the last set of lines, the eye contact deliberate and full of meaning.

Take care of yourself, I love you.

INT. CHUBBIE’S DINER - DAY

In spite of the emotional whammy, there’s still plenty to celebrate. Another year around the bend, the fact that Lucas isn’t going to have to return to Quincy. No one is going to be absolutely decimated by Bradford money, so the junior A class has gathered at the local diner to celebrate the victory.

The techies share in a group toast, cheering the fact that the original odd octet are going into senior year still a united front. Dylan and Asher make a special toast to Lucas, eternally grateful that their fearless leader wasn’t brutally taken from them by the claws of capitalism.

Dave: A-fucking-men.

Jade also adds an addition to the toast, signaling out Isadora for all the effort she put into the protest effort. It definitely didn’t go unnoticed, and while things aren’t completely all right and in order between her and the techie crew, it seems as though they’ll be able to repair things in the end.

She’s pulled from the moment by her phone ringing, recognizing Valerie’s number and eagerly going to take the call. She tells Lucas she’ll be right back, going into the back to answer.

They’ve made a great victory… but a victory they really only have because Charlie took the fall. Zay says as much, not nearly in the same high spirits as he sits across from Riley. She’s torn, caught between the elation of Lucas not having to leave and the reality of her good friend volunteering to sacrifice his spot instead. Charlie, pointedly, is not in attendance.

She questions if Zay really had no idea, if Charlie really didn’t say anything. He shakes his head, obviously embittered. Nothing about Haverford, nothing about the possibility, and definitely nothing about actually making the decision.

Zay: No. No, he didn’t. And now he’s not even here to face it. [ sharply ] He’s just… gone.

Oof. Riley reaches across the table and takes his hand, offering whatever comfort she can.

Still, celebration. Lots of things to celebrate! Maya makes her way over to Lucas, pithily congratulating him on still somehow managing to evade cosmic consequence for his overall general existence.

Maya: It seems you and I get to enjoy one more glorious year of barely tolerating one another.

Lucas: Oh, just what I was looking forward to the very most.

Maya: It’ll be even better now, considering you’ll be swapping spit with my roommate whenever possible. [ off his disturbed expression ] Yeah, speaking of, it would be peachy if you two could not do that in our shared bedroom. Just, you know, common courtesy.

Maya lecturing anyone about courtesy is a laugh riot, but Lucas just wants this conversation to end. As he points out, maybe they’ll get to avoid it anyway, right? If all goes as planned, she’ll be moving in with Isadora, and they’ll never have to cross paths outside of the AAA auditorium. Ever. And they should never speak of this again.

Speaking of, Maya asks where Isadora wandered off to. Lucas nods towards the back room, claiming she said she’d be back after she talked to her mom.

Well, it’s been a hot minute since she left to do that. Sure, there’s a lot to fill her in on, but Maya is nothing if not nosy. Besides, she’s not going to pass up the chance to jump in on a conversation with Valerie De La Cruz. Maya makes her way towards the back to look for her.

INT. CHUBBIE’S DINER - BACK ROOM - NIGHT

Maya pokes her head in to the back area, peering around for Isadora. She manages to find her sitting on an overturned bucket in the corner of the room, no longer on the phone. She questions what she’s still doing back here when the party is out there -- and did she miss the call with Val?

Isadora doesn’t respond. She’s staring into space, expression totally blank. Maya grows concerned when she realizes her phone is at her feet, screen shattered after hitting the concrete flooring.

Maya: Izzy?

She comes over to kneel in front of her, asking what’s wrong. Isadora still doesn’t speak, almost like she’s frozen. Maya gently touches her knee.

Maya: Izzy, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.

For another long moment, silence. Then she manages to speak, the words coming out numb.

Isadora: My mom is dead.

The words hit like a freight train. Maya stares at her, stunned, the revelation slowly sinking in.

END OF EPISODE.

[paint-pilot]

shit it’s been a second, guess it’s time to update again

edit: holy christ this is long, i’m gonna readmore it. tl:dr tyler has many badweird feelings but is getting through it. fun body changes, including hair growth and an unexpectedly nice voice. surgery and legal matters are Annoying. tw for menstruation

it is truly bizarre to think that i’ll have been five months on t in a little under two weeks. another month after that and it’s half a year. it’s uhh...weird. quarantine has just made this all feel weird. it’s like i fast-forwarded through this whole journey i was supposed to go on i guess? like i got randomly torn out of my life one day in march with no warning and then just as suddenly got spat out in august with a new life - new name, new face, new major, new identity - and no transitional period whatsoever. my classmates, my professors, my students, they all have only known me as tyler. and only ever will know me as tyler. and that’s great! it’s great, and i’m truly just blown away by how markedly easy it’s been and how weirdly good my timing was in transitioning. but it almost feels like i’m still a ways behind everyone else, i guess. i’ve spent so much of my life hiding, and lying through my teeth, and covering my ass every second of every day to protect myself, and i don’t have to do that anymore but the instinct is 100% still there and that honestly doesn’t feel good. of course i’m not making any of it up - i’m happier now than i’ve ever been, and i know i’m making the right choice - but it still persistently keeps feeling that way.

it’s just difficult, i think, to balance wanting to be read as male (and, to a large extent, wanting to keep my transness hidden both for safety reasons and so people don’t start treating me differently) and finding it difficult to hide this truly massive life change that, like, four people are really seeing anything of. and y’all, i guess, lol. it’s one thing to talk about all this in therapy, but it’s another entirely to just be able to share it with strangers and not worry about it being weird.

i was writing this with the intent of it being a mostly happy update but i guess there is some negativity boiling up so. gotta be honest, i guess? there’s a lot of fun trauma stuff i’ve been going through lately that i won’t get into but it’s culminated with this bullshit in this really fun way where my mom gets upset because i get kind of uncomfortable when she shows me childhood photos or tells stories about me as a little kid and then i just break down for reasons i really can’t discern. i’m going to try and articulate this, and who knows how messy it’s going to get, so i apologize if it gets kind of incoherent from here on out. as far as i can tell the root thing that she really gets upset about is that i’ve “thrown away” my whole previous identity. like, not a direct quote, but “you can’t just pretend [deadname] never existed. because she did, for a long time.” and...sure, i guess. i know this has been hard on my mom. i know she was raised in a conservative family, and while she has worked hard to adopt an accepting and open mindset she still doesn’t 100% grasp all of it and will make mistakes. i’ve made my peace with that. and yet. it’s not so much, really, that i was this other person and then became tyler, y’know? tyler did not appear suddenly two years ago where she once stood. tyler put on a mask, even before he knew he was tyler, because tyler was scared and ashamed but people seemed to like her and, for a time, she was an easy person to be. and i hated her. that is so fucking scary for me to say, and i’m not sure i’ve admitted that until literally right this second, but i did. not because she was a bad person. because she had a voice and a face and a body that i hated. because people saw her and assumed they knew me. because even she had many faces, because there was no real base or identity to her, just traits designed to paint a pretty picture and make people like her. because i knew, when i finally threw her away, people would miss her. compare me to her. expect me to be like her.

so i don’t know. i don’t have a satisfying way to wrap this up, because i honestly don’t know how to face this because i know it is absolutely not just the trans thing that created this situation. i’m kinda warring with myself, because i do kinda want to go back through this blog and delete photos of myself with long hair and whatever (because jesus, i’ve had this thing since i was like 14) but i genuinely don’t know if that’s healthy. i know i’m going back on my bullshit, fretting this way and that over whether something is “healthy” as though that’s an objective term without considering what’s going to make me happy, but honestly? i don’t know anymore. i keep sensing the mental block - the swathes of my childhood that i cannot recall, just vague, constant unease - and i don’t really know if i want to dig into all of that and learn what lies underneath because i’m sort of afraid of it. like i said, i’m happy now, happier than i’ve ever been, and i’d sort of like to just leave it like that. but i guess the length and tone of this post might argue otherwise.

anyways. anyways. enough mental health therapy, more actual hormone therapy updates since that’s what this goddamn thing is supposed to be i think? i’m finally starting to grow some noticeable hairs - my chin hair is coming back after my mom made me shave it before i left for school lol, as are a handful of mustache/lower lip/sideburn hairs. i keep feeling phantom bugs on my legs/feet and i’ve only just now recognized that that’s just leg hairs brushing against places i’m not used to. my appetite has picked up like absolute hell again, too, so i don’t know if i’m just having a metabolic spurt or what. also, i’ve started bruising more? idk what the hell that’s about - i fucking never bruise unless i’ve been hit Hard, and i kind of assumed testosterone would make you less likely to bruise, but then that’s probably just not related to the hormones at all. i was gonna put this in the tags but seeing as this post is already so long i might as well put a readmore and just put this here lol: my period is late, like, four days late, which is exceedingly unusual for me and might mean i’m finally done. or almost done. fingers crossed.

my voice has started to settle, it seems like. i popped out an e2 yesterday, which is Sick, but i’m not as focused on that anymore as i am on the actual quality of my tone. which is...good? i’m not just a baritone, i’m kind of a good one, at least it seems like. i’m really working right now on just getting familiar with my instrument - i’m second-guessing my pitch sensitivity a lot, but i think i really just need to drill and practice until everything starts feeling like second nature again. but since the musical didn’t happen for me, my coach wants to enter me in a classical solo competition next spring. so...no more retirement from competitive singing. i’m back! and thank god, because i’m starting to go crazy without being in musical work lol.

jesus fuck, i have a lot to say. i should probably split this into two posts but i don’t care. i am frustrated; i tried to get an appointment with a pro bono legal program for a name change, but it happened today and i wasn’t invited so apparently i’m on my own. and i’m frustrated. i’m trying to look at internships and shit for next summer, but i kind of can’t apply right now because my legal name and sex don’t line up with my presentation, and i don’t really know how easy it is to get away with that in this day and age and especially in my field. genuinely, if anyone has any advice, i’d appreciate it. i don’t know how long this will take, i don’t know what the requirements are, i don’t know if i’m better off just applying now and hoping they don’t eliminate me before ever getting me an interview. and, of course, i’m working on getting consultations for top surgery, but i keep catching myself procrastinating that. which seems weird, but listen. i’ve said it before but i have to emphasize, i am capital-t Terrified of getting this surgery. i know i need to, i know it will make things better for me, i know now is the time, i know i hate binding and can’t really get away with not doing so, but jesus fuck i am so frightened of anesthesia it’s not even funny. but i guess i’m mostly just calling myself out here and telling myself to quit being a big baby, schedule the thing, and give myself a few months to prepare.

anyway. that’s all i have to say. i’d apologize for ranting, but honestly...i dunno. i know at the start of all this a handful of you requested these updates, and i have to imagine it’s because at least some of you are transitioning, are thinking of doing so, or know someone who is or will be soon. and i just hope someone out there can at least relate, because there honestly just aren’t a lot of comparable life changes out there. or maybe this is just therapeutic for me, that’s fine too.

i have two midterms next week i should be studying for. i should do that.

[sunderedazem]

Wow, I did not know that... I'm so sorry that you were made to feel that way, I hope things are getting better for you, Fandom can be your greatest friend and your worst enemy but for every 1 negative review their will be 5 positive ones to go with it

The problem isn’t reviews, honestly. I can tolerate people wanting to tell me shit I’ve ‘done wrong’ - the only one that looks like an asshole is them, and I’m not afraid to clap back and tell them to shove their shitty opinions and asshole attitude where the sun don’t shine. They don’t (usually) come for me twice. 

(warning, vent beneath the cut. Its…emotional. I’ve tagged it for some shit. Read the TWs in the tags, and move on if you don’t want to see that shit)

The problem is how cruel people are to other people over stories. The problem is just how many people on the internet hide behind a screen and say AWFUL stuff to each other over fucking fiction. Over shit that isn’t real, never will be real, and can never excuse how they’re treating other human beings.

Like. I wrote Transition Period when I was a kid dabbling in queer and lgbt+ stuff for the first time. The main character is a genderbent Hitsugaya that’s gender-questioning and takes advantage of the genderbend. At the time of writing it, I was decidedly homophobic. I told my (one) gay friend that I “supported him but not his gayness.” (I have since sincerely apologized. He poked fun at me, as was his right, and forgave me, bless him)

Now, at the time I hid every mention of fanfic from my parents. But Transition Period I didn’t even save to my COMPUTER. I kept it on a google drive, under a gmail I never told them about, and only wrote it on school computers at lunch, or in my room with the door shut. Transition Period was the fanfic that my parents would have confiscated my laptop over, because it depicted a trans character, and that was (and still is!) sin to them. 

Nowadays, Transition Period means a LOT to me, because it was baby’s first steps into ‘huh, maybe mom and dad are wrong about this’. As a queer person, it has a shit-ton of sentimental value to me, and honestly I still relate to the gender euphoria Hitsugaya experiences in a female body - because I experience gender euphoria in the same way, when I look at myself and see androgyny. It was the beginning of my journey to self-discovery.

And then I come into fandom proper - tumblr, twitter - two years ago and see people absolutely screaming over genderbends being transphobic. Doxxing, hatred, death threats, the WHOLE nine yards. Stuff that would have absolutely destroyed me as a kid. Even now, I read that shit and feel secondhand pain from it because- I wrote that fic for fun. To explore something I could never DARE think about exploring in real life at the time. It was NEVER meant to be ‘representation’ - that’s for mainstream media to provide.

And yet, here people were, willing to tell others to die over that shit. 

I’ve seen people bullied off the internet in my two years here. I’ve seen people told to kill themselves. I’ve seen people treated as less than human. Called awful names. Falsely accused of shit they didn’t do, and then dogpiled for that thing. 

There’s no kindness here. No empathy. Not even the decency to block and ignore. It’s all hate, all anger, all empty accusation. 

And this place that was once my escape has become hell. 

This place that taught me that it was okay to be queer, this place that taught me to accept myself, to stop viewing sex and intimacy as this sacrosanct thing that even thinking about (unless the purpose was childbearing) was evil - it’s gone. Fanfiction gave me a place to question Catholicism and its views on literally everything. 

And now, I’ve wanted to kill myself over it. I’ve picked up a knife and hurt myself over this. I’ve nearly jumped off a roof over this. Because I’m so sick of being here, so sick of seeing everyone hate each other, hate things I love for not being woke enough, or whatever BULLSHIT reason people want to give for tearing other people down.

And yet, I can’t leave. It’s the one place I’m completely out of the closet. It’s the one place I can say “Trump sucks” and not be given a lecture in Real Life Hatred Propaganda. It’s my escape from my family’s homophobia and transphobia, my escape from being dragged to a Catholic Mass and having to pretend to pray to a god that would tell me to go to hell for existing how I am.

It was supposed to be fun. This was supposed to be the place I could do anything, be anything, explore anything - especially shit that I could never touch in real life. 

And now, every day I see this shit, I feel a little closer to just ending it completely.

I know this is entirely the opposite of what you wanted, and I’m really sorry for responding like this, anon.

But fandom is hell. It takes so much energy to create, to write, to do things I used to love now. 

I really appreciate everyone who loves what I write, what I draw, what I create. But for every one of you, there’s another who can’t even take the time to realize that words can hurt. Really hurt. And I’ve been at a breaking point for a long time.

[buildarocketboys]

OK so I think one of the things I hate the most on a personal level about the whole "you have to want to/already be transitioning to be trans!!!" bullshit is that it's really harmful to anyone who's still questioning/figuring out their gender stuff.

Like, I've known I'm some flavour of not cis for? Like? 4 years now? And I'm not even remotely out to the majority of people in real life, and even the idea of doing that is terrifying. How can I possibly think of transitioning (whatever that might mean for me as a genderqueer person who is not binary) when to do so, especially as a non-binary person, would require people in my life to know about me being trans? Sure, there are some transition things that I maybe quite like the sound of, but frankly at the moment they seem almost absurdly out of reach and impossible, even before you get to the medical establishment's prejudice against trans and particularly non-binary people. Even in queer spaces (bc of truscum and other exclusionist fuckers who are promoting this discourse) I don't necessarily feel safe to come out about my gender.

Non-binary and genderqueer folks, and trans folks in general, regardless of whether they're dysphoric/want to transition/whatever arbitrary qualification you've decided to put on transness today, need spaces where they can be themselves, explore their gender and the possibilities that come with that without being forced (by people in our own community/claiming to be allies nonetheless) to fit into a certain box (which gets smaller and smaller all the time) in order to be acknowledged as real.

@queerautism tagging you bc I've been reading your takedowns/general mocking of transmed bullshit on your blog

Feel free to reblog. Transmeds/terfs/other exclusionists who comment will be immediately blocked