#going down the slide over and over with everyone else who congregates at the place

[bump1nthen1ght]

Across a Crowded Room (GN!Reader x M!Goblin)

Pairing: Flirty!GN!Reader x Male!Knight!Goblin

Genre: High Fantasy, Flirting, Sexual Tension

Word Count: 2576 words

Summary: You had entered the tavern with innocent intentions; to dance, to drink, and maybe take someone home, if they were interesting enough. But a certain goblin knight catches your eye, and you’re just dying to see him blush.

Request: Can I ask for your goblin knight x flirty reader? I want to see my boy blushing

If you want to read more about the goblin knight, check out here (SFW Headcanons) and here! (NSFW Headcanons)

No one throws better parties than knights, especially knights just fresh from a victory.

The clamering group came into your town just this afternoon, blood-soaked and smiling, shouting about free rounds at the local tavern. For a boring town just a couple miles from a well protected capital city, it was the most exciting thing to happen in months. Naturally, anyone and everyone who loves some good fun and alcohol was quick to congregate. 

Including yourself.

The tavern is packed, sweaty bodies and beer all clashing together as people dance and drink, the band playing to rapturous applause and intoxicated cheers. Soldiers have stripped most of their armor, surrounded by groups of desperate hangers-ons, here for the fascinating tales or to catch the eye of a handsome knight.

You’re more interested in the free alcohol and the music, but you can’t deny that these soldiers are good-looking. Would it be bad to have those calloused hands pushing up your shirt, salty lips sucking on your neck, all pent up and ravenous from weeks on the road?  

Damn, maybe you’ve had enough to drink.

You drop off your half-empty ale and pick up a fresh cup of water instead, thankful for the magical ice chest the tavern owner had just purchased/stolen off a drunken wizard. Your cheeks are still hot, but any dizzying fog fades quickly from your mind. Your eyes wander around the dance floor, wondering if anyones sober enough to be a good dance partner, or if it’s time to call it a night. Everyone seems to be partnered up already, and you think you’ll be walking home alone in the dark, when-

Bingo.

There in a corner booth, surprisingly free of drunken party-goers, sits a goblin knight in gleaming armor. His bulkier pauldrons have been removed, but his chest plate remains shiny and in place. He sips on something bubbly, something light and clearly not the hearty ale everyone else is indulging in. Yellow eyes survey the dance floor with a clear mind, a reserved smile on his face. 

Welp, guess I can stay another hour or so.

You slink between dancing and flailing bodies, trying not to seem too eager as you make your way to the lonely knight’s table. He only glances up once you sit down in his booth, giving you a polite smile, probably thinking you just need to rest your feet. 

Now that you’re up close you can see just how handsome he is. With that sharp jaw and slicked back hair, you’re surprised he isn’t fighting off propositioners with a stick.

“Hey there.”

“Hello.” The goblin gives you a nod, taking another sip of his prosecco. His eyes go back to the dance floor, still calm and casual. You slide across the booth seat, closer yet not to close, still trying to gauge interest.

“Not much of a dancer?”

The knight seems a little shocked you’re still talking to him, stopped half-way through another sip. He sets it down.

“I enjoy it, though I have less experience in this sort of dancing.” He waves his hand generally to the crowd, which are less dancing and more bouncing. The tavern is too crowded for any proper dances, so most people divulged into a mixture of shimmying and skirt tossing, often grinding someone to slide up next to and go back and forth. “Plus, my men are having a lot of fun already, it seems someone should stay behind and be responsible.”

“You’re the captain?” You slide another inch over. “That’s a hefty title, lots of hard work, sounds like you deserve most to let loose and relax a little.” You’re even more shocked now that he’s all by his lonesome; the captain is the one with most of the glory and prestige, someone you’d be proud to be on the arm of, even for just a night. The knight just laughs, gesturing to his drink.

“I appreciate it, but the wine has proven to be good company. Besides, I was never one to find getting into a drunken stupor to be very relaxing. A little too much vomit for my taste.” The knight runs a clawed hair through his slicked back hair, tucking back any loose strands. It shows off the strong muscles of his neck, just hidden behind his armor. You take an intake of breath.

“I see, I see. Are they any other ways you like to relax?” You finally close the gap between, the fabric of your pants legs touching his own, and throw your arm over the back of the booth. His tail twitches and his eyes glance down to your chest, clavicle exposed by your loose tunic. But this knight is a gentleman, and is quick to meet your eyes.

“I garden. Nothing too exciting, just some vegetables.”

“Really?” The curiosity in your voice is genuine, not the kind you force to keep the conversation alive. “I do too, mostly windowsill flowers, and the occasional herb and succulent. Though those tend to die on me, though. I’m not as familiar with desert plants.”

The knight's brow furrows thoughtfully, a thumb to his chin.

“How often do you water the succulents?”

“Uhm, maybe every 3 days.”

“Ah, that’s the issue.” The knight has locked in, turning his chest toward you. You become aware of how close your hand is to his leg, or his shoulder to your shoulder. “Succulents are small, but hardy. They only need water every week or so, some even less.”

“Oh, I never realized. I must have been drowning the poor things!”

“It's a common mistake, I made it myself the first time. Now they’re one of my favorites. Small but mighty.”

Much like yourself, Mr. Captain.

The stirring in your stomach is familiar, your heartbeat just a little bit faster. Handsome, polite, and knowledgeable without being condescending. Where has this goblin been hiding?

Well if no ones gonna snatch him up…I better do it myself.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask your name. How rude of me.” You scoot on more, fully breaking the normal boundaries. You hold out your hand. “I’m ____.”

The knight looks at your hand, then looks at you. You think you catch a hint of a blush at the tips of his ears, right before he grabs your hand and presses a kiss onto your knuckles.

“Leon, my dear. A pleasure to meet you.”

His smile is infectious, one curling up at your lips.

Oh, I see.

“Should I call you captain? Seems only right with such an honorable position.” Your hand rests on his armored knee. There's two solid layers between you, but you can still feel him twitch at the touch.

“No need, I get enough of that from my men. Just Leon.”

“Ok, just Leon. Gardening’s a yes, dancing’s a no, what other things do you do for fun?” 

“Training, mostly. Not very exciting, but I personally enjoy the rigor and discipline of my work.”

“I disagree, good sir. I’ve seen knights train before, it is far from boring. In fact, me and my siblings used to make trips to the capital just to see them spar.” You chuckle, the old memory of betting on the good-looking knights resurfacing. Your teenage years were voracious. “Seeing them move so gracefully, so powerfully, with all that heavy armor and weaponry. It was enthralling. And if I’m being honest….” The hand on Leon’s knee moves upwards. Leon’s throat bobs, “...very attractive.” Your hand changes its course and moves to the outside of his thigh, tracing the empty sheath still tied to his waist. Leon exhales heavily out of his nose, his tail flicking by his side. “What weapon do you prefer most, captain?”

“Ah, my rapier.” Leon's voice only catches a bit, well-practiced dn maintaining his composure. If only that cute blush didn’t give him away. “Light, quick, and efficient. I am also proficient in a short sword, but I always find myself going back to the rapier.”

“Hmm good to know, I’m sure to become Captain you must have studied quite rigorously. I would love to see you spar one day, Leon.”

A tint of pride curls up the side of Leon’s lips into a smirk, his shoulders raising. He had been so bashful, but it seemed this was a skill he was comfortable bragging about.

“Well…” Leon looks at his men, all still drunk but most of them having found a suitable partner, a place to sit, or a bucket to throw up in. “I could show you right now.”

You sure your eyes are sparkling, your voice almost  a squeal.

“Yes please.”

—

And that’s how you find yourself outside, away from the warm fire and flowing alcohol, goosebumps all over as you watch  Leon demonstrate. He had procured his rapier from the tavern keeper, who had shown you a nice area outside with the proper amount of room. It was hard to say no to the Captain, after all.

“First you bow to your opponent. Respect is paramount to a proper duel.” Leon zips his feet together, bowing at a perfect angle, hand not even on hilt. “When it’s called, you may draw your weapon and ready yourself.” The gleaming metal shings as it’s pulled out from Leon’s sheath, his forearm muscle flexing with the smooth movement. He holds the weapon out and forward with only one hand, stepping his non-dominant foot backward. Yet Leon keeps his weight centered, his front toe ready to jab at any moment. “This is my preferred stance, as it allows me to be quick and fluid. Once the the match has started, I can make my first strike.” Leon is just as quick as one would expect, shoulder bursting forward to throw the sharp end of the rapier into his imaginary opponent's chest. “If I am blocked, I can easily move back and adjust.” He bounces on the balls of his feet as he scoots back. “I survey their next move, and then I may strike again-” Leon jabs forward, “-or parry a blow-'' Leon swipes his rapier diagonally, the force blowing a breeze across your face, “-or even block, and strike again.” Leon turns his blade, muscles holding steady as if real weight was applied, before he easily swipes his blade again. “If I hit, that is the end of the duel. As in real life, it only take one blow to slay you.” Leon flicks his blade in his hand, adjusting it to slide back into his sheath just as smoothly as before. He turns and gives a gracious bow, waving his hand to his single person audience.

You clap furiously, cheeks flushed from both the cold and your excitement. Seeing a person of such skill perform was always a thrill.

And very, very sexy.

You stand up from your seat, mimicking the excited whoops of a crowd. Leon plays into it, putting his hand on his chest in a faux-sense of embarrassment.

“And of course, always check on your opponent, and give a good handshake.”

Leon shakes his imagined fighter's hands, even mouthing words of “good fight, good fight.”

A strand of Leon's hair has come loose from his slicked-back style, hanging down in a curl against hsu forward. His cheeks are also flushed and his gloved hand goes to rub the back of his neck. You watch the bones crack as he stretches, the muscles flexing. 

Oh my gods, thank you for this sight.

“So, how about we-”

You’re rudely interrupted by a stool being thrown out a window, a mixture of excited gasps and the angry yells of a barkeep about paying for that echoing across the lot. Leon is next to you in a moment, grabbing your wrist and pulling you close. He only comes up to your waist, yet you’ve never felt more shielded.

“ALRIGHT, EVERYBODY OUT, NOW!”

Drunken patrons and knights spill out of the front, you and Leon forgotten out in the back area. No one seems harmed, mostly embarrassed and/or delirious. Probably a prank gone wrong.

“Seems that ale was much stronger than it tasted.” You murmur.

“Quite. So was whoever threw that stool.”

You guffaw, shocked once again by this Captain’s sense of humor.

“Well, if the tavern is closed, let me walk you back to your abode. I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.” Leon looks up aht stars, the moon high in the night sky.

“Uh, wouldn’t you like to check on your men?”

“They’re big boys, they can handle themselves. I would much prefer making sure you get home safe.”

Leon holds out his elbow for you to take. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you eagerly take it.

—

“I must thank you for your time tonight.” Leon pants, pushing back strands of loose hair behind his ears. “I was quite ready to spend the night with only my drink, left with my thoughts in that corner booth. But it has been a delight speaking with you. ”

“It was my pleasure, Captain. It’s easy to make fun when with such interesting company.” You nudge his shoulder with your hip, giving him another wink.

  Leon chuckles, a tinge of dark green colors at the tips of Leon’s ears.

“I could say the same.”

There’s a lingering something in the air as you two walk side by side, the brisk night air against your sweaty skin. Your eyes can’t help but wander over his exposed shoulder and neck, see the way his tail flicks back and forth in a slow pattern. The space between your paths slowly close, your clothes and his armor only breathes apart by the time you reach your doorway

“So,” Your hand brushes across Leon’s shoulder, goosebumps pebbling the back of his neck, “...would you like to come in?” You gesture with your head, a wry smirk curling up your lips.

For once, the captain seems lost for words, something almost caught in his throat. His gaze dances across your exposed shoulders, shooting hack up in an instant. Your index finger tucks another stray hair behind his ear, an almost imperceptible shiver running down his spine. You can hear your blood pumping in your ears.

A gentle, gloved hand daintily grabs your wrist, pulling it away from his shoulder with a polite smile. Your stomach sinks a bit, but you try not to let it show.

“Best if not.” Leon’s thumb rubs across your pulse before gently setting it down to your side. It’s a polite rejection, but you can't help feeling slightly embarrassed for reading him incorrectly, words knotting up in your stomach. So you nod, placing your hand into your pants pocket, hoping he doesn’t see it shake. 

Idiot, Idiot, Idiot-

“Of course, Captain. Have a good night.” 

You turn to your doorway, trying not to let the disappointment hit too hard.

“There’s a market tomorrow morning, in the grove. I’ve heard they’re supposed to have the most beautiful plants on display from all across the kingdom.” Leon worries the bottom of his tunic in his hands. “Would you like to join me?”

A childlike giddiness fills your stomach, how lighter than ever. You don’t hide your smile.

“I would love to.” You linger in your doorway, feet kicking as a blush heats up your cheeks. “Meet me here at 9?”

Leon’s canines gleam in the lamplight, his lips curling as he drops into the bow.

“It’d be my honor.”

[justmeinatree]

01 - the greatest show : the preacher in the pulpit

Summary : a group of misfits, a mysterious leader, a string of murders, and life on the road.

TW : transgender misconceptions & hardships in victorian era europe

Word Count : 5.6k

Series Masterlist

“in the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost. amen.” priest davies recites, his right hand in the air, making a sign of the cross above the heads of the entire congregation. making this the two million, eighty three thousand, nine hundred and sixty seventh time she hears those words. or so it felt like.

it’s not that she didn’t like the idea of god, it’s that she didn’t like learning that the church seemed to be ran in a way that opposed to a lot of the practices they’ve been taught. but she could never admit to that. it’s much too radical thinking. the year is only 1849, mind you. 

the problem she’s facing stems from a lifetime of church practices and church school and a super tiny church town. a lifetime of learning to submit, although really it didn’t feel as extreme as it sounds. she didn’t hate it, didn’t know anything else really. 

she sees the life her parents lead, the life everyone in this town leads, and she likes it. loves it, honestly. wants it. but she holds such a big, life altering secret. one that unfortunately wont let her lead that life. surely not in this part of the world, anyway.

looking around the small church, she notices mister wright, misses wright hanging onto his arm, their three kids trailing behind them. then the griffiths walking down the aisle, misses griffith obviously about ready to give birth, if her swollen stomach and awkward little waddle are anything to go by. and then who could forget mister morris, approaching his 50s, sitting in the back corner, a spot he’s now claimed as his own, since misses morris passed away a few months ago. it made her sad to think about, they’d been together 35years when the ol’gal passed on. 

she loved watching people, families, go about. it gave her an opportunity to disconnect from real life thoughts, and place herself into a beautifully conjured up imaginary story. one where she actually has the chance at love and happiness.

“timothy” her mum snips, pulling her from her thoughts, pulling her from her full happy fulfilling fantasy, shaking her head and looking over at her mum, as she goes on, “hurry up, we need to get to your uncle’s in time for lunch. your cousin oliver has some news to tell the family.”

and she’s not sure whether it’s hearing her name, the useless event that’s about to happen, or the fact that her mum makes such a big deal about everything, but her stomach has turned and fell and shattered.

as she rolls her eyes, sliding out of the pew, following her parents and little sister down the aisle, she murmurs, “we know oliver’s going to announce that he’s finally engaged to betsy.”

“oh stop it, you,” her mum snaps again, turning to look at her with sheer annoyance in her eyes. “why do you insist on being such a party pooper ? can’t you ever just happily go to an event ?”

“i don’t even understand why i need to go, and why this is even an event,” she sighs. “besides, it’s not like i’m ruining the party, we already know that’s what it’s going to be, right ? it’s useless,” she trails on, getting cut off now that they’ve reached the back of the church, father davies shaking hands with her parents.

the priest now turns his attention to her, a warm smile on his face, taking her hand in his, “was nice to see you timothy, i look forward to seeing you next weekend.”

and as she’s always been taught, she keeps a tight lipped smile, nodding her head in affirmation, before father davies shifts his attention to her sister, emma, following the same routine. a firm handshake, warm smile, a bid to a good week, and a promise to reunite next weekend. same time, same place. same, same, same. always the same. 

which, as mentioned, wasn’t terrible. she loved the idea of meeting a nice man, settling down, finding love. obviously the idea of kids was wiped off the table the moment god decided she’d be born in a body with a penis. 

but it was okay, she wasn’t angry with him. god, that is. figured that he did this for a reason. 

she was angry, however, or maybe frightened was the right word, with the people of the congregation. she’d heard stories of what happened to people like her. and although, she’d hoped her parents loved her too much to even think of something so awful, she knew, downright, that it wasn’t the case.

and that’s what she’ll never understand. if god is perfect, and his creations are perfect, why was she such a terrible creature ? why was it impossible to fathom that maybe a girl was born with a penis ? and why was she doomed to a future of white walls, straight jacket, botched early versions of lobotomy, rape, abuse, starvation, prison, complete segregation, and quite possible death ? why was love a concept she could only ever dream of ?

all thoughts that plague her mind on a daily basis, especially while she’s hiding in her room, stood in the dimmest light she can function in, dress draped over her small frame. she only had the one, tucked away in the depths of her drawers, something she pilfered from the seamstress’ shop years ago now.

she felt bad in the moment, assuming that whoever’s order it was would be proper upset, hopefully not taking it out too roughly on the poor seamstress. misses white could hold her own though, as delicate as she was with her craft, she could tear you apart if you so much as looked at her wrong.

and how she longed for such a badass attitude. generally she got a huge burst of confidence on the off times she had the opportunity to put the beautiful pale yellow dress on. but it was quickly wiped away whenever she’d hear so much as a tiny creak, immediately brought back to reality, shrugging the garment off, and hiding it all over again.

but in this moment, she was following her parents, walking side by side with her sister, down the road to their uncle’s house. and when she looks down, seeing her polished black shoes laced up intricately, her black, firmly pressed slacks, crisp white shirt buttoned up to the top, and tucked in tightly, a little bit of her light seems to fade.

she almost forgets, when she’s going about her life. her true colours, her true spark, that’s become an intricate part of who she is, typically shines brightly. you’ll rarely find someone that doesn’t love her presence. men, women, young, old, she gets on with everyone. a feat that’s not always easy, especially in their little village. 

and she supposes that’s the irony in this situation. if all these people knew her secret, they’d shun her completely without so much as a second thought. but nothing about her would be different. other than the name, and the cut/fit of the cotton hanging off her body.

but then, when she hears the word timothy, or she catches a glimpse of her clothing, and she’s begrudgingly reminded that she is in fact, a penis having human, and that means that she has to be a boy. and those are the moments you can almost literally see the spark leave her soul entirely.

she wonders if one day she’ll lose that shimmery glimmer of hope and love and light and joy. if the more she’s reminded that she must be timothy, the more difficult it will be for that spark to find her again. almost as if the spark is looking for her, and gets mistaken whenever it sees timothy, continuing on its journey to find her, flashing right past her stupid boy name and her stupid boy clothes.

“timmy ?” she hears softly, coming from right next to her.

“yeah, em ?” she hums, giving her head a shake, forcibly throwing those awful thoughts around her head, hoping to smash them up so badly with the force of it all, that they’re at bay for at least the rest of the day.

“you look sad. are you alright ?” emma asks quietly, still slightly too young to understand much of anything, but old enough to know that it’s crucial to keep her voice down, as to not garner the attention of their parents.

“m’alright honey bee,” she plasters on the biggest smile she can muster. which truthfully isn’t all that hard, in the presence of her little sister. if there was anyone she’d ever feel comfortable confiding in, it was emma. unfortunately, at the ripe age of 7 3/4, god forbid you forget the 3/4, emma’s still a bit too unpredictable in the secret keeping department.

“have i ever told you that i love when you call me honey bee,” emma smiles wide, eyes peering up.

“don’t think you have actually,” she hums in thought. “do you remember the day i gave you that nickname ?”

“sort of,” emma hums, the memory now very faded, as she was barely 3 years old when it happened. “you and i had gone for a walk. remember you slamming the front door and storming off. remember being scared when i heard the loud bang.”

“sorry about that,” she murmurs, nodding, as she remembers that morning like it was yesterday. remembers the loud screaming match she had with her mum, remembers storming off in a fit of furry, pacing the front of the house for a moment after having slammed the door. remembers adorable little emma, shyly peering through a crack in the door, asking quietly if timmy was alright. remembers the instant calming effect her little sister seemed to bring.

“remember going for a walk with you,” emma hums. “i could tell you were mad, i could feel it off you. but you were trying to hide it from me.”

“never told me that,” she murmurs, in thought. “you know, you saved me that day. you calmed me down so much, i just couldn’t stay mad with you around. you were so cute, running around, so innocent and happy, trying to make me laugh.”

“remember all of that,” emma smiles at the memory, always having been really close to timmy. the sibling bond, sibling love, was very strong between the two. “but i dont remember how we fell on honey bee.”

she smiles, laughing quietly, the memory crystal clear in her mind, “you had ran ahead, stopped by a large tree, remember you twirling around under it. anyways, i had caught up to you, when a bee flew out from the tree and kept bothering me. i was swatting away at it, when you yelled at me to stop. told me that clearly the honey bee had mistaken me for a pretty flower.”

“i said that ?” emma giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. 

“you’ve always surprised me with the things you say,” she laughs. “i think you surprise everyone with your well advanced view on the world. anyways, i dont think i’d ever felt more special, more beautiful, than i did in that moment, on that day. been calling you honey bee ever since.”

she can see the smile light up emma’s face, a memory emma’s obviously happy to now tuck away into her brain, the story finally complete in her mind, just as they walk up the pathway to their uncle’s house.

they all spot aunty jane, standing out front, hand extended in the air, waving at everyone. here we go, she thinks to herself.

finally, finally, back home, she mutters to herself as she shuts herself into her bedroom. sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows rested on her knees, head dipped down into her hands, taking lung fulls of shaky breaths.

“can’t do this, can’t do this, can’t do this anymore,” she mumbles quietly to herself, silent tears dripping down from her water filled eyes.

her brain feels like it’s imploding, her heart feels like it’s much too heavy for her chest, her stomach is turning, and she’s so god damn sick of it all. if she hears the name timothy one more time, she’s sure she’ll be gouging her eyeballs out, shoving knives in her eardrums, and swallowing arsenic for good measure.

she hadn’t noticed that her body was wracking through tremors, as she was trying, fuck swears she’s trying, to take proper breaths. but all of a sudden, her chest is too heavy, her lungs feel swollen, her throat is too tight, and the air just can’t get to where she needs it.

she blinks through some tears, the feeling of a panic attack nothing foreign to her. actually, it’s become a fairly usual occurrence following family gatherings. she can usually do her best to ignore the obvious fact that she’s imprisoned in a “boy” body on normal days. but put her in the presence of others and she struggles more and more each time.

and the unfortunate reality, the only way to make it all better, is to pull out that beautiful yellow dress and slip it on, cover her awful body with a garment that mirrors what she’s been picturing in her mind for almost a decade and a half. 

today, however, it’s still early, everyone’s still awake going about their business, a much too dangerous situation, she thinks to herself. which honestly, only makes the panic worsen. 

but, she can’t calm down, she can’t think straight, she can’t fucking breathe, and rational has flown straight out the window. she needs her dress, needs it. fuck it all, she needs a good strong inhale before her brain goes into the fuzzy abyss of no return. 

in a flurry of pure panic meeting the influx of adrenaline, she quickly stands straight, her head spinning uncontrollably from the lack of oxygen. her hands fall on her dresser, holding herself up, all of her strength and power coming from the rush of knowing that the dress will make it all better. her light at the end of a dark, panic ridden tunnel.

rummaging haphazardly through her drawer, clothes being thrown about in her room, because she needs, needs, needs that fucking dress. needs it now. nothing else matters, every ounce of her being is redirected and focused on dress, dress, dress.

her brain barely registers the yellow fabric through her gaze, only clicking once her hand wraps itself in soft cotton, a strike contrast to the rougher material of her usual, very well used, pants and button ups. 

and almost as if she’d been given pure cocaine, injected straight into her brain, for the strongest, most instant high, her body starts to calm. the mere presence of her dress enough to bring her back, feet solidly planted on the ground, breaths coming easier.

but it’s not enough, she needs to feel it, needs to see it, needs, needs, needs anything that isn’t such a grandiose expression of boy. so with the dress now laid out gently on her bed, she grips into her shirt, ripping the buttons right at the seams, as she tears it off her body, the garment joining all of her other clothes strewn across the room, with her slacks quick to follow.

and once she shimmies her way into her dress, her lungs finally, fucking finally, pull in the large breath of oxygen they’d been searching for. her brain starts to relax, the fuzzy blindness of panic and terror and pain starting to lift, as she looks down at herself, her body now mirroring what she’s always pictured, what she’s always wanted.

taking some calming breaths, letting the much needed air reach her brain, her body relaxes. she can feel her fingertips again. can feel her toes as she wiggles them. can feel the goosebumps on her skin as a chilly breeze flows through her open window, her arms hugging around herself in pure search of comfort. 

she can feel the silent tears wetting her cheeks, as she keeps crying quietly, the feeling of elation so overwhelming. going from pure, intense, rage ridden panic, to pure, intense, serene calm, throwing her brain, her body, for a complete loop of emotion. she felt almost lightheaded at the whirlwind of a switch that was just flicked in her mind.

and she isn’t too sure when it happened, or how it happened, the last 15 minutes having been too much, too much, too fucking much, but she finds herself laying in bed, eyes closing as her body screams at her to regulate, to shut off, to rest. 

so without a second thought, without her usual level headed moment of judgment, without her ability to assess that no, she should not be taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon, wearing a dress, when anyone could walk in, she ends up asleep. the panic attack having been the worst she’s ever experienced, every ounce of her being shutting down now that the adrenaline had crashed and her body felt peace in the envelopment of a beautiful yellow cotton dress.

at first she isn’t too sure what it was that woke her up. maybe she’d been asleep longer than she ever anticipated when she closed her eyes. maybe it was the newfound nip to the chill in the air that came with the darkness of early evening. maybe it was the lingering smell of whatever her mum was cooking up for dinner. 

but the moment she hears the loud gasp, followed by a booming shout of her father’s gruelling voice, she seems to remember the faint cry of her name. her god forsaken, stomach turning name. the faint cry coming from her sister’s sweet little melodic tone, obviously coming from far away in the kitchen, announcing that supper was about to be served. and naturally, when she couldn’t answer, thanks to her sleep ridden body, her father came trudging up the stairs looking for her.

“what in god’s sacred name is on your body, young man ?” she hears bellowing through her room, through the entire house really, and what a crude, awful way to wake up this is. she barely has the time to blink her eyes open, let alone give her brain a moment to steady itself and register its surroundings, before the booming stomps of her father’s feet can be heard echoing through the room, and probably shaking the floorboards enough for some dust to trickle down below them onto the lower floor of the house. 

she feels her father’s hand wrap itself in the garment, at chest level, giving a harsh enough tug to pull the upper half of her body clean off the bed below her. “i asked you a question, timothy,” he shouts right in her face, “where the fuck did you get this and why is it on you ?”

fear. pure, stricken, fear. she feels her heart stop, she feels the her stomach fall to a pit so low she didn’t know it could even go that far. she feels a prickling warmth spread through her entire body. her lungs seem to stop working, as she stares into her father’s disgust filled eyes, waiting for an explanation, none of which would be anywhere near good enough for him.

“i- i-“ she stutters around the shakiness of her breath, chest twitching, trying to gasp through any bit of air, soft voice working its way through, “it’s not what it looks like.”

in a fit of pure rage, her father pushes at her chest with force, such pure disgust evident in his eyes, as he lets go of the garment, letting her fall back against the bed.

by now, with the booming commotion, her mum and sister were standing in the doorway, curious eyes peering past the man of the house, to see what it is that’s got him so riled up.

she can see the shock in her mum’s eyes, hand covering what she can only assume to be her wide open mouth, jaw slackened with surprise. she can see the worry and confusion in her little sister’s regard, not totally grasping the scene in front of her, but old enough to understand that whatever was unfolding was nothing good. she can’t even look at her dad, the disgust she saw earlier, too much for her to look at again. it was already burned on her brain anyway.

she’d never been made to feel so ashamed in her life. she’d never felt so alone, so disgusting, so dirty, so small, so fucking revolting. she was trembling harder than she ever has, her gaze stuck on her hands resting softly in her lap. her ears were ringing so loud she could barely hear the conversation now happening between her parents.

fear. so much fear. what would happen now, who were they going to tell, where would she go, what would they make her do, how was this going to end ? 

her ears catch bits of sentences, “did you know ?”, “is that dress yours ?”, “send him to the asylum,” “give him a chance, maybe father davies- ,” “he’s a fucking worthless whore cross dresser !”, “we can’t just- ,” “get this sorry excuse for a son out of my face,” “daddy, dont- ,” “i never want to see that disgusting face again.”

it all went by in a blur, and the next thing she knows, her door is slammed shut, all wandering eyes closed off by the dark wood separating her from the world. 

still trembling, still shaken by the events, still gasping for breath, and for the first time, she can’t get the dress off fast enough. she tugs and rips and shimmies at a blinding pace, angry at the garment, angry at herself, for causing such a mess.

having lost any ounce of appetite, she spends the evening in her room, tucked in the smallest ball her body can wrap itself in, hiding away in a corner of her room, sheltering herself from the entirety of the world, while simultaneously attempting to comfort herself in any way she can.

she’s disgusting, she’s dirty, she’s a fucking abomination. what was she thinking ? what was she doing ? how could she humiliate herself like that ? she really felt like the lowest form of human there was. she’d never felt such deep shame in her life. 

she wasn’t sure how long she’d been squeezing herself into such a tight ball, angry thoughts swirling through her mind, until a soft, barely there knock can be heard from the other side of her door. at first, she wasn’t sure it had really happened, until she hears it again, more urgently this time.

her limbs hurt, joints creaking, as she untangles herself for the first time in god knows how many hours, padding quietly to the door, opening it just a crack, peering out into the hallway to find emma looking up with her big, innocent gaze.

opening the door more than just a crack, she beckons her sister into the bedroom, closing the door with a soft thud.

“are you okay ?” emma asks quietly, going to sit on the edge of the bed.

“you shouldn’t have seen that,” she hums quietly. “surprised mum and dad even let you come talk to me.”

“they’re asleep, it’s late now,” emma murmurs, shrugging. “they’re making you go to confess your sins to father davies tomorrow,” she explains, “overheard them talking after dinner.”

“of course they are,” she rolls her eyes, a silent tear running down her cheek. “this isn’t good emma. i’m in a lot of trouble.”

“just do what they say,” emma whispers, her own eyes filling with unshed tears. “they’re mad, but- but it’ll get better right ? can make this better ? i can’t lose my brother,” emma whimpers, afraid of the future, concerned for her favouritest family member.

“i’ll try,” she murmurs wetly, tears running freely down her cheeks, as she wraps her arms around her sister. she has to do what’s right. can’t leave her sister. can’t be a girl. she cannot be a fucking girl. she needs to be the big brother emma’s always loved and needed and came to for everything. she just needs to be.

or so she tells herself all night long, when the thoughts are too loud for her to get a wink of sleep, watching emma curled up next to her in comfort, holding onto her brother’s shirt for dear life, the only way she could reach a proper state of rest after the events of the day.

without having slept a wink all night long, her brain muttering through different thoughts, different scenarios, different possibilities, different outcomes, and enjoying the slight moments of peace when her gaze catches her innocent, sleeping sister, she starts to notice streams of light working their way through the small window. the sun slowly rising on a brand new day, full of hopes and dreams. or so she wishes. at this point, she isn’t too sure that hopes and dreams are still a part of life that she’s privy to.

she gently pats emma awake, watching her stretch out her limbs to waken them for the new day ahead. they both pad downstairs, noticing that it’s fairly quiet in the house. too quiet really. usually by this time their mum is muttering about the kitchen, getting their breakfasts ready. their father is typically shining his shoes, making sure his hat and tie are on straight, awaiting his breakfast before shuffling out the door and off to work.

but today, they couldn’t make out a single sound, the eerieness to it all not going unnoticed, creating a heavy swirling in the bottom of her stomach. did they abandon their children ? was she their reason for leaving ? was all of this entirely her fault ? now she was left to raise emma as her own, the two of them against this cruel world ? no, no, she figures it can’t quite be that bad. she needs to stop psyching herself out. they surely wouldn’t have left without emma.

now in the kitchen, emma notices the small piece of paper on the table, reading aloud, “father davies is waiting for you, timothy. after the confession of your sins, we expect to see our son back.”

she notices emma blinking up at her, all of the questions bouncing around her head seen clearly through the confusion in her gaze, “how would you not be their son ?”

“because i was wearing that dress,” she murmurs quietly, a short sentence full of shame, hatred, humiliation.

“but a dress doesn’t make you a girl,” emma pipes up, completely oblivious to the situation at hand. and how could anything but confusion and oblivion be etched on emma’s face when the concept of transgender has not even come close to being introduced to her. why should it ? people like this don’t exist. not out in public anyway.

“no, but my brain does,” she sighs quietly, shaking her head and snapping back into reality. “look, honey bee, i clearly have to go to the church. dont want to upset mum and dad any more than they already are. you wait at home, yeah ?”

“but -“

“no emma,” she shakes her head, “can’t come with me this time. need to do this one myself. mum and dad, or me, will be back soon, yeah ? here, have some bread and jam,” she hums, taking a plate and bringing it to the table. “next thing you know, someone’ll be home. you can work on your crochet in the meantime.”

“are you going to be okay timmy ?” emma asks quietly, almost shyly, ever worried for her brother.

she smiles sadly, not wanting to ever cause harm or worry to her little sister, giving her a kiss on the head, “i’ll be fine. eat, do something fun, and i’ll be home in no time.”

and with that, she sets off, the door closing gently behind her, as she walks down the familiar path leading to the town centre, and more specifically, the tallest building right in the middle of it all, the church.

she walks in quietly, the pit in her stomach having only grown larger and deeper and pittier. is that even a thing ? she’s not sure, but what she is sure of is that upon noticing father davies, her chest tightens, her lungs struggle to breathe, her head is absolutely swimming with worry, and is it possible to poop out your stomach ? because she thinks she just has.

“ah, timothy !” father davies smiles, turning around when he hears the shuffle of the large wooden door creaking closed. “good morning, son.”

and she swears, swears, that up until this point, father davies has never called her, son. surely out of spite, after having whatever conversation was had with her parents, and the entire ordeal makes her want to coward back and run out of the building altogether. but by sheer will, and maybe a little speckle of hope, she walks her way down the aisle, stopping at the last pew, sitting herself next to the priest.

“your parents tell me that you have some sins to confess,” he hums, looking her over, a gentle smile on his face, no foreseeable judgment in his gaze. yet.

as she sighs, her shoulders slumping a bit, she figures this is it. maybe telling her secret to father davies, to god, whom is surely listening right ?, maybe she’ll find a sparkle of hope. either way, confession has always been confidential. or so she’s always been affirmed. this is a conversation to be had with god. father davies is just like the interpreter. the messenger if you will.

“i was wearing a dress yesterday,” she mumbles quietly, still unsure of how much she can put her trust in the priest, but with having no one else to turn to, she has to put her faith in someone. and who better than a man of the church to turn to for faith.

“so i’ve been told,” he nods. “and what made you do that then ?”

“i like it,” she murmurs, shrugging her shoulders. “i dont see why it’s a big deal. i like wearing dresses. i- i-“ she sighs, the next part not something she ever anticipated telling to anyone. especially not this soon anyway. “i think i’m a girl.”

and at that, she notices the furrow in father davies’ eyebrows, notices the little hamster wheel turning very hard in his head, as he tries to make heads or tails of this situation.

truth is, he was not expecting that. maybe a confession of stealing, of being curious, because sure, who wasn’t at some point in their lives. but to be blatantly told that this boy thinks he’s a girl. well, it’s a little bit whacky, and a lot bit absurd.

as father davies sits, processing, not speaking a word, she sighs again, although this time with a slight edge as she’s maybe noticing that the faith and trust was misguided. “i dont understand why that’s so bad. if god made me this way, there’s a reason right ? father davies, if god isn’t capable of errors, why do i feel like such a mistake ?”

“you’re not a mistake, timothy. you’re maybe a little lost, maybe a little mistaken, maybe a little confused. but you are not a mistake, as you said yourself, god doesn’t make mistakes. maybe you just need some help in finding yourself, finding the man you were meant to be all along.”

the man. the man she was meant to be. her stomach plummets more, her heart beats more erratically, her fingers become more jittery, her head swims more and more. was she just mistaken ? no, no, she can’t be mistaken, she’s a girl. she knows. fucking knows that she’s a girl.

and as gut wrenching, as frightening, as confusing, as complex as this moment is, there is a click in her brain. a moment where the metaphorical fog has lifted. she is a girl, and she will do whatever it takes to have the freedom and happiness and love that she knows she deserves. 

“i’m sorry father, but i must disagree. my parents have sent me to speak with you to confess to my sins. and other than stealing that dress, years ago, i dont feel as though i have any sins to confess to. i am a girl. and if no one can agree with that, well then, i guess we’re done here.”

with a solid kick of confidence brought on by her new inner realization, she stands from the pew, nodding her goodbye to father davies, and walking down the aisle towards the back of the church, seeing herself out of the building. 

on the walk home, her mind swirls with the future unknown. she questions what will come out of her short conversation with father davies. will he keep her secret, or will he have, what she can only assume to be, a very disgruntled conversation with her parents ? will he tell others ? what will her parents do ? what will the others do ? what about poor little emma ? 

the one thing she does know is that she’s absolutely done. so fucking done. if even the priest, messenger of god, cant hear her out, she has no reason to hold onto hope. especially not here. with her newfound courage, she finds herself skipping towards her house, a huge contrast in her demeanour since she first walked this path, just a mere hour ago. because really, whatever happens, she will be the girl she’s always known she is. she will. she has to. for her sanity, she fucking has to.

Part 2

……

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N : dont worry your adorable little selves, we need a little background on our main character before we can meet our golden boy. harry’s on the way real real soon ! ✌️

tags : @daphnesutton @niallthebadboi @gorlsinmultifandoms @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite

[bluebellhairpin]

Thorin Oakenshield X Fem!Reader

Summary; With the journey to Erebor continuing, the Company finds rest in the home of a apparent foe turned friend. You and Thorin find something else.

Warnings; Mentions previous injury/"death but not really". Reader is female-body-coded, uses she/her pronouns (is called 'Auntie' once), and is Human.

Listening to; 'Evergreen' by Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners - "What am I waiting for?... My compass, my transport."

Part 5 || Part 7

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

The respite from the Orcs didn’t last long. 

Everyone had taken the time to look out at Erebor - it was clear that your journey was coming to an end, and a halfway point had been reached. By the time the Company had bumbled down the mountain you’d woken on, the howls of Wargs started up in the distance again right as night fell. 

But you were so tired. 

Whatever spell Gandalf used on you saved your life, however, still had you feeling a lot like death warmed up. Kili, for some reason, had tucked himself by your side - helping you and making sure you were keeping up. You caught Thorin looking back, and Kili nodding, before his Uncle turned back around again. 

Obviously Thorin had something to do with your helper. 

Despite the urgency to find a way away from the Orcs that were hunting you and your friends, the Company was moving slowly. Cautious, unsure exactly where to go, therefore remaining more hidden. Kili, however, didn’t tend to be one to say quiet too long. 

“Do you think you’ll make it to Erebor?” he asked with a hand securely on the back of your coat. You looked down at him, his attention was on the ground, making sure neither of you tripped over rocks or roots. 

You knew, though, behind that curtain of dark hair that he was as exhausted as you were, even if it were in a different way. Really, everyone was. 

“What, you want me to give up?” you asked, scoffing as you both stepped over a fallen branch. “Like that’s going to happen.” 

“Well, I mean, how much more of this do you think you’re gonna handle?” Kili said, “I can’t say you strike me at someone who did this often before now.” 

“Hey now,” Fili said, sliding up on your other side, “Gandalf brought her, and Uncle trusts her. Have a little more faith brother.” 

As he spoke, the group congregated in a small rocky alcove. A place for taking a moments breath. The Orcs could still be heard, and the Company still needed to make tracks, but for a few minutes this place would provide safety. 

You looked down at the other Dwarf, smiling, nodding to thank him. 

“I’m sure Kili is just concerned,” you said, “It’s nothing I’d take offence to.” 

“Well of course,” Kili said, puffing out his chest as you leaned away, now feeling more yourself as time passed. “We need to make sure everyone is okay.” 

“Besides,” you said, watching across the group as Bilbo was sent to scout ahead by Thorin, “It’s been about eleven months since I started ‘doing this’ - I ought to know what I’m doing.” Saying it aloud really made it sink in. 

You’d been travelling this land for almost a year. 

Damn right you knew what you were doing. 

“I have something for you.” Fili said, procuring a long sword from somewhere in the back of his coat. But it wasn’t a long shaped sword at all. In your hands it was quite short, and quite familiar. 

“My sword.” you said, “You picked it up for me?” Fili’s moustache piqued up on one side in a smile. 

“Couldn’t help it.” he said, “I thought about keeping it, since for a sword made by men it’s pretty good. But you might find better use of it. I have plenty of others.” 

“I can believe that too.” you said, laughing quietly. 

“You’d better,” Kili said, “My brother’s got an army’s worth in his jacket alone.” 

“Hey!” Fili said, reaching over in front of you to tug at one of his brother's braids, “Don’t give away my secrets.” 

But you were distracted. Lost sword now returned in your hand, you thought back to what Fili said. It was forged by men. You knew that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing - but among weapons forged by Elf, Dwarf, and Orc, it wasn’t the best. However, according to Fili the living weaponry, it was. 

A sword that held up against Azog, you thought, deserved a name. 

Madean. Made by Man.

Bilbo returned, looking as flustered as ever, and with no good news. 

“There’s,” he said, breathless, “Something else out there. Big - huge! Like a- a…” 

“A bear?” Gandalf said. From beside him, your head, among a dozen others, whipped to look at the wizard. 

“Ah, yes? Exactly.” Bilbo said, nodding in disbelief. “But so much bigger.” Thorin, from a few paces away, felt his chest swell with frustration. Then his eyes flicked over to you, and like a water dousing hot coals, it quelled. 

“Gandalf.” your voice was low, like a warning, and Gandalf side-eyed you like he knew what he’d done. 

“You knew about this beast?” Bofur asked. 

“What do we do?” 

“This is just perfect!” 

“We’ll never get to Erebor now.” 

“Gandalf.” you said again. Thorin watched as he turned to you, regarding your bid for attention, “If you knew about this, tell me you have a plan.” 

The Company quietened, waiting for an answer - a way out, a plan. Thorin watched as you never once turned away from Gandalf, setting him with a hard stare. Gandalf looked to the skies, tipped his hat down, then pursed his lips in thought. 

“There is, perhaps, a house.” 

“Whose house?” Thorin asked, sceptical. “Friend, or foe?” 

“Neither.” Gandalf said, “He will help us, or he -” the wizard looked at you, “- will kill us.” 

“Is the house close?” you asked. Cautious but prodding, like you were worming a straight answer from him. 

“Close enough.” he said, “If we are quick and unseen.” 

Thorin watched you, the way your lips moved as you thought. He noted how your hair’s flyaways moved in the breeze, and how the cut on your head was already looking better even though it hadn’t been more than a day since you got it. How your fingers curled around the fur that lined the seams of your coat. 

Then he realised your eyes were on his, and that you were waiting for him. Waiting for him to say whether to go or not. 

“We have no other choice. Lead the way Gandalf.” he said, marching forward with his eyes to the ground - heat rose up his neck at the thought that you’d caught him staring - “Get us out of here.”

There was an ache in your chest and shoulder as you ran. And it seemed you’d never stop running. 

You’d shoved Kili off ages ago - or so it seemed - having gained quite a lot of your own strength back. With your slightly longer legs, and your energy returned again like magic, you were keeping up with the pace of the Dwarves with only a little more effort than normal. 

But the last dregs of your flight with Azog were still lingering. Sometimes it was hard to breathe, other times there was a sharp pain in your stomach. Your lungs slowly started burning even as you tried to breathe through your nose. The swords strapped to your back were gaining more weight with each step, and your head returned to its old, persistent throbbing. 

Possibly worst of all was the Orcs. Above the noise of the worn out Dwarves, and Gandalf’s constant urges to speed up, the Orcs behind you were growing louder. Still distant, but still pursuing. Every so often though there was a different noise. One louder, closer. 

Right then, with a mighty roar that shook the leaves on the trees beside you, the way your heart stopped in your throat made you realise just how close this thing was. 

This bear-beast which Bilbo saw. 

The Company surged forward with newfound vigour - the urgency of the situation washed through your veins like cold water, and your legs moved faster, feet landed more surely. 

The trees and branches soon gave way to a stretch of grassland. Open - it meant being exposed. But beyond held a beacon of hope. A house.

Thorin had found himself near the back of the group. Pushing everyone forward to run faster and faster by his presence alone. 

Gandalf was furthest ahead, but kept turning back to make sure that everyone was still moving behind him. Bombur was making good time, despite having to pull him to his senses, the large Dwarf had made up for the lost ground and then some.

And then you. 

Thorin kept coming back to you, making sure you were keeping up, as often as he was to Fili and Kili. 

He’d seen how you’d recovered from your fight with Azog. How you’d coped with virtually being brought back from the dead. It was like nothing happened at all. Ori stumbled in front of you, and you seamlessly caught him under his arms, ran with him until he found his feet again.

Recovered well indeed. 

Thorin still hated to think of anything like that happening again. 

The Company had made it to the house, but they were not safe yet. The Orcs were nowhere to be heard of, but the Bear - it was right behind them. 

“Into the house, quickly!” Gandalf said, stopping by the gate to make sure everyone went in. 

Thorin passed the threshold gate and watched as Bombur and his nephews barreled into the door of the house. A fruitless attempt to push the large thing open, and more Dwarves piled on behind them.

You, bless your soul, didn’t have a mind that worked like a Dwarf - the fact the latch that opened the door was right at your eye-level instead of most of theirs helped. As you barrelled into the door behind the Dwarves, your arm reached out and over heads to unlock it. 

Thorin found himself smiling as he followed everyone hurriedly inside, but it didn’t last. The Bear was upon them, and with a shove, he and half the Company had the door shut behind them right as it tried to stuff its nose inside. 

With the door shut, and a wooden latch barricading it so, the air in the room left with a collective sigh of relief. 

They’d made it. 

Beside him, Thorin realised you’d slumped back against the door. He watched as your chest rose - your lungs finally catching up on lost time now it had the chance - and your eyes softened as you looked down across the Company, your friends, with a soft smile. 

But he wasn’t staring, not again. 

“What was that?” Ori asked. 

“He,” Gandalf said, “Is our host.” Thorin flet you bristle beside him as he watched it happen to everyone else - himself included. Then you pushed off the door, and were gone. “Beorn the Skin Changer. Sometimes he’s a bear, others a giant man. The bear is ruthless, but the man can be reasoned with.” 

“I can tell.” you said, eyeing something Thorin couldn’t see on the dinner table. But you weren’t done. “But even the most reasonable man doesn't have to welcome those who were uninvited into his home.” Your comment, however true, made Bilbo scoff. 

“True.” Gandalf said. “He isn't overly fond of Dwarves.” 

Apparently, Thorin now noted, your new lease on life had given you newfound courage as well. No sooner had Gandalf turned away than you were by his side - making hushed demands for answers, and making an all-round nuisance of yourself no doubt, in order to get them.  

“Best now to get some rest.” Gandalf said, addressing everyone, pointedly ignoring you looking up at him. “You’ll be safe here tonight. Hopefully.” Gandalf trailed off, if Thorin weren’t casually happening to be so close he would’ve missed it. 

You certainly didn’t, but you were much more purposefully closer. 

“Gandalf!” 

“It will be fine, I believe I could talk him down if he’s not so receptive.” 

“Sure, because your negotiation skills have been so stellar so far.” you scoffed. 

“Need I remind you of the Trolls and Goblins, my dear?” That seemed to silence you quite quickly - whether because you were thinking, or he was right. Then Gandalf’s voice softened into the kind of tone you’d hear a grandfather speak in. “You need not worry. Not right now. Just rest.” 

“Very well.” With that you brushed past Thorin and were off towards the Company to choose a place to set yourself to sleep in.

You were quite tired, but something was keeping you awake.

The straw beneath you and the blacket you rested on made the best bed you’d had since Rivendell, and the last candles the Company had lit were slowly burning out their wicks. 

Both Bofur and Bombur were already snoring in a furthest stall, and across from you Golin was making a fuss since he wasn't quite able to get the straw under him the way he liked. But those weren't things keeping you up. You were used to those all by now. 

It was only when Thorin came over with his blanket in hand, almost hesitantly setting it down next to yours, that you started to think that - maybe - what was keeping you awake wasn’t something that was happening now. 

It was what the Dwarf now before you did back when you first woke up after your fight with Azog. 

Or, more like, how he looked at you. 

“What gives me the pleasure of your company while we sleep?” you asked, voice low so you weren’t going to wake anyone else - or draw attention. "Tell me what brings the King Under the Mountain to sit with the likes of me.” 

“I am no King.” he said, “Not yet.” His eyes were reflecting dark from the last candles - not a sign of the icy blue could be found in this light. 

“Nonsense. No true king needs a throne to rule upon.” you said, picking up a piece of straw and fiddling with it. “A true King can rule his people from anywhere, and with nothing to his name. Can command an army from commoners, because they know they can trust his word.” 

“You speak as if you know.” Thorin said. You could feel his eyes had never once left your face. He wasn't shying away from looking at you now like you’d noticed he was doing earlier. “Do you really believe what you’ve said?” 

“I do.” 

“How?” He lent back, open and ready for your answer. Like it was some test. 

“Because I’ve seen it. Look around.” You gestured vaguely, “I’m not sure about you, but I’d trust these ones - pick these fellows - over any army, any day. They came when you called. Their loyalty should be worth far more than the mastery of the ten best swordsmen.” 

Moments passed, and you almost saw nothing as a reaction from him. Perhaps he smiled? Perhaps that was the light, or lack thereof. But you weren’t thinking about talking to him about kings and armies. Not now. 

“Thorin, may I ask you something?” you said. Your voice was even lower now, and you could’ve bet he hadn’t heard you at all. But he did. 

“Of course.” you smiled at that - not even six months ago he would’ve denied you. 

“Back on that mountain, after I died, the first thing I saw when I woke up again was you.” you said. You were unsure where to look now though, at him or at the piece of straw in your fingers. “No one’s treated me in such a way before. Least of all you. I -” 

You. You what? What were you going to say? What could you say? 

This was Thorin, the Dwarf who you had to cut a deal with just to get along when you first met. Thorin Oakenshield, the warrior and leader who’d seen far much more than you had. The King Under the Mountain, when you most definitely were not. 

But why did it matter who he was? You wouldn’t have held him any higher than a street-sweeper back when you met him in the Shire - had he changed that much since then? Had you? 

You looked up at him, finally ditching the straw, to find him exactly how you left him - with his attention on you like he was watching over the whole world. 

“Why was it you?”

Thorin shifted in his place across from you, now being the one who couldn’t meet your eyes. 

How was he meant to answer that? How was he meant to tell you he couldn’t have not been that one? That he needed to be right with you as your eyes fluttered with life again, and your lips parted open with their first breath in too long - especially after what you’d done for him and his kin. 

The simple answer was he couldn’t, because it wasn’t that simple. Because it went much further than just gratitude, and he was only just realising it himself. 

It sparked when you told him of your times travelling before joining him. When you looked out for ones like Ori and Bilbo even though you yourself weren’t much more experienced than they were. How you fit in among his kin like you were born there just because you grew to care for them like they were. How you’d grown from someone he couldn’t bear to ride beside, to now being someone whose face Thorin had memorised. 

You’d become someone he felt a little too deeply for to be considered friendly. 

How could he put that simply, in a way that can be spoken in hushed voices under the darkness of night?  

“I didn’t want to believe you were dead.” he finally said, now his thoughts matched his mouth, and his tongue found its place again. But he could practically hear you’re next ‘why’ and you hadn’t even said it yet. “I’m starting to care about you more than I realise.” 

To his relief, you smiled. “I think I know how that feels.” you said. He felt like he could burst, an unfamiliar but good feeling. “I’m starting to think you’re giving me plenty of reasons to be nice to you.” 

“I don’t think I can hide from it anymore.” he said. Yet again you rose to meet him. 

“I won't expect you to.” 

“If we get to the end of this,” he slowly found himself saying, “There would be a place for you at the mountain. In Erebor. Just like everyone else, it wouldn’t have to be anything more unless we found we both wanted it.” 

He watched as you smiled shyly, and nestled back into the straw bed behind you. 

“Do you think everyone would be agreeable to a human residing in such a position among a Dwarven city?” 

“You’d have earnt it more than most who have it as their bloodrite.” Thorin said, and found himself smirking. “If anyone kicks up a fuss they’d have me to answer to anyway.” 

“Oh, really are milking the ‘I’m king, deal with it’ advantages, aren’t we?” He was finding your smile contagious. 

“I would.” A dark head said as it popped around from the stall behind you. “Especially if the one I gave heart-eyes to was as pretty as you.” 

“Kili!” Thorin snapped.

“Sorry Uncle,” Kili flinched back slightly, “If you weren’t so obvious about it maybe I wouldn’t have noticed.” 

“If your whispering weren’t so loud, I wouldn’t have either.” Another head popped up. Blond this time. “Next time, definitely sit much, much closer.” Fili said, bringing two of his fingers closer together so they were touching. 

Before he could tell his nephews off himself, you reached behind you into the corner of your stall and grabbed the handle of the broom left there. 

“Go to sleep!” you said, bonking both their heads with the straw end. “And learn to mind your own beeswax while you’re at it.” 

“Yes ‘Auntie’.” 

Thorin was about ready to burst in anger - embarrassment too maybe - but your face split open into a grin. With his jaw set and eyebrows furrowed - he was sure you both looked like quite the opposites. Apparently it just made you burst into a small giggling fit.  

“Are you mocking me?” he asked, gruff and foreboding - but you paid it no mind. 

“No, No!” You protested, but a laugh spilled from your lips nevertheless. “It’s just, they're so childish.” 

Thorin realised he’d never heard you laugh before now. He wondered what else he’d missed out on. Stories, songs - he didn’t even know if you sang or not, he didn’t know what you remembered of your home, if you did remember at all. 

“They are still quite young.” he said, settling back as you did, “I suppose some leeway can be given to them.” 

“I’m sure they’d be grateful for your mercy.” With your smile he felt his chest swell with that emotion again - the one he didn't think he'd felt before.

The next morning, everyone had crowded around Beorn’s large table. 

You’d tucked heartily into the honey cakes and thick-cut slices of apple and cheese that were set before you as breakfast. The size of the mug before you that held fresh milk made you think back to your night in the Shire - how everything there was too small, where here it was all too big. How times change. 

You almost jumped out of your skin when a jug and attached arm reached over your head to pour more milk into Fili’s mug. Beside you Bifur laughed, and you flicked his ear to show your annoyance at his jest. 

“So you’re the one they call Oakenshield.” Beorn said, still lingering behind you as he addressed Thorin at your right. “Why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?” he asked, finally moving away. 

“How do you know of Azog?” Thorin asked. You felt in your gut that your host’s answer wasn’t going to be one of sunshine and clear skies. No one who knew Azog could say a thing good about him. 

“My people lived in the mountains before the Orcs came from the North.” Beorn said, “The Defiler killed most of my family but some he enslaved, not for work - but for sport.” 

Something twisted inside you. Listening to Beorn speak of what Azog did made you wish all the more that you could see his demise. It became very clear that this wasn’t just about reclaiming the mountain - not anymore, not to you. So many people had suffered at the hands of Orcs - of Azog. It was about time someone pushed those wicked creatures back where they belonged. 

“You need to reach the mountain before the last day of autumn.”

“Yes, before Durins day.” Gandalf nodded. You watched as the giant man sat and looked across at your group. 

“You are running out of time.” 

“Which is why we need to get there through Mirkwood.” Gandalf continued, taking the lead in speaking.

“A darkness lies upon that forest.” Beorn said, “Fell things lie beneath those trees. An alliance between the Orcs and the necromancer. I wouldn’t venture there except in a time of great need.” 

You thought back to all the encounters with dark forces thus far - Beorn wasn’t instilling much confidence in you that the road ahead would be easy. 

Gandalf took the conversation on further, you assumed to persuade Beorn - or himself - that the way planned was the only way. Then at the mention of an Elven road Thorin turned away beside you. You kept your eye on him, but the fact he didn’t immediately shut down the idea of a path forged by Elves made your chest swell with pride. 

“But it doesn’t matter.” Beorn’s words made your attention return back out of your thoughts. 

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked softly, turning back to the group. 

“The land is crawling with Orcs, and their number is growing. You are on foot, so you’ll never make it to the forest alive.” Beorn stood, ducking under a rafter as he approached Thorin. You watched them both closely, you were sure there wasn’t anything really to worry about, but their hairs on the back of your neck bristled anyway - like a protective creature rearing its head in the back of your mind. 

“I don’t like Dwarves,” Beorn said, and your eyes sharpened even more, “They’re greedy, blind to the lives of those they deem less than their own.” 

You watched as he reached down and picked up a mouse Bofur had brushed aside - you saw how he was firm but gentle. A true giant with a kind heart. 

“Orcs though, I hate more.” Beorn looked from the mouse in hand to Thorin, “What do you need?” 

You felt your shoulders relax then. 

You knew Beorn was no threat, you really did - a man who couldn’t even ask mice to leave his own home couldn't really want to do any one of your friends harm. But after the talk you had with Thorin last night, something had changed. 

You really had started to like that Dwarf - more than would be deemed suitable for your cause.

[sylvidoptera]

A sign or just a wild dream?

For some reason, Mark Ruffalo (as his character from Now You See Me) and Nathan Fillion (as his character from The Rookie - which I haven't seen anything of except shorts on YouTube) needed ME to come along on an undercover to help them bust a case wide open. Unfortunately, they didn't tell me what the case was. They just said "be yourself, be friendly, talk to everyone, and trust your gut".

So I packed up my stuff, my kiddo and his things, and my sister Adri so she could watch kiddo while I was doing my thing (who's going to suspect two guys and their "wives" and a child of being undercover?). The dream had a lot of interesting twists and turns and ended up with me uncovering an entire smuggling/antiques theft/underground auction ring for them. Just by being my friendly, nosy self. Interesting bits along the way: -getting kidnapped by a person and waking up tied up on a pool table in a cluttered storage room with loud music playing and being told I was going to pay for what everyone else did; finding out I was being held captive by a trans girl who was about to start on a serial killing spree because her ultra-religious family had driven her to the brink, then managing to turn it around by complimenting her outfit, taste in music, and talking about my trans friend Emily. We then became best buds and I turned her away from violence by inviting her over for dinner and then going out to the main body of the church (we'd been in the basement) and severely lambasting the entire congregation (and physically punching a few) - including her pastor father. -seeing a gray kitten somehow having had climbed up a lamppost and wanting to get it down, so found the base of the post and saw a van under it. The kitten luckily managed to slide down the pole on its own but I knocked on the van window to ask the lady in it if it was her kitten and she asked me if I wanted to "buy one" and I was like "Hell yeah I want to buy one!" and she started showing me guns. 😮 I told her that no, honestly, I was just wanting a kitten. And that I'd be right back cuz I wanted to get money to give her for the little gray one. -various places in the dream where I was trying to seduce (separately) both Mark and Nathan. Because c'mon, this is ME. … But yeah, eventually it was solved. By me finding out that the gun lady in the van and the crappy church were connected and we ended up finding a crapload of stuff, including a LOT of cash. I was so bummed about having to hand it all over for evidence cuz we could have used it SO MUCH for the house, but I was still proud I'd helped. However, as I was going back to the hotel room we'd been staying in (where Adri and kiddo were napping after a long day of playing in the pool), I noticed a thick notebook on paper package that had my name on it. Inside were sneaky pix Mark had taken of me while I was "working" and notes on how I'd be a great agent someday. There was also a personal note from Nathan that regretted we wouldn't get to "play", but he hoped the stuff would help. So I opened the package and it was full of modern cash, old bills from the 1800s, random little jewelry, and some old bonds. JUST the cash that was spendable added up to over $10k. And the stuff was sellable for a lot more. … Which is when I woke up breathing heavily and feeling a wild urge to cheer out loud. Now, I'm not sure if this is just a "we're grasping at straws for hope" dream or if it's a "don't worry, the money will find you somehow" dream… but damn, I will DEFINITELY take it after the nightmares of the last few months. -------------------------------- Speaking of the nightmare of the last 9 months... can we make the dream of getting my house a reality by maybe getting more orders in my store (https://www.etsy.com/shop/ChaoticDaydreams) or over at my GoFundMe (https://gofund.me/1e6f294c) to make my dream a reality? We still need so much more help. Thanks for getting this far! <3

[ace-pidge]

I just got hit with feels so have some sheith back-country (canoe) camping headcanons (based on personal experience)

Keith is the camper. Shiro has been like trailer/car camping with his family and some friends before, but it’s always been the cushy kind of camping with running water/showers/toilets and electricity and where you’re packed into a campground with tons of other people and where you’re never far from a fast food place if you want to nip out with the car to get coffee or food or whatever

Keith teases him that he hasn’t been camping camping

(Keith is the type who will go lose himself in a forest for a couple nights with nothing but a hammock or sleeping bag + bug net)

When Keith tells him they’re going back-country camping Shiro has no idea what that entails

Haha rip Shiro

Keith is ruthless with the packing, insisting they have to fit everything they’ll need for the three day trip into two backpacks. He keeps sending Shiro back to repack (“No Shiro you can’t bring your iPod dock” “Only the strict minimum clothes Shiro. The strict minimum, put that back you don’t need 2 pairs of pants” “Why the fuck would you bring a coffee grinder”)

Shiro is starting to have doubts

Shiro is really starting to have doubts when he sees Keith pack toilet paper (“shouldn’t there already be toilet paper over there?”)

When Keith starts carefully measuring out ingredients for the meals Shiro starts to realize the scope of what he’s gotten into. They’re bringing all their own food, everything they’ll need for 3 lunches, 2 breakfasts and 2 suppers, plus snacks. Shiro infers from this that where they’re going has no restaurant or fast food place nearby

When he sees the water filter and purification tablets Shiro infers that where they’re going has no running water

“Wtf did I agree to” –Takashi Shirogane

(read more below)

He manages to convince Keith to at least bring a tent—he draws the line at sleeping outside with absolutely nothing over his head. Keith rolls his eyes and laughs fondly

In the end they need 3 backpacks. Keith isn’t happy about it but Shiro says he’ll carry one on his front and one on his back, it’s ok

The canoe comes as a surprise

“Why do we need that??”

“Oh didn’t I say? We’re canoe-camping.”

“So we won’t even have the car?!! What if there’s an emergency?”

Keith holds up a pair of walkie-talkies and a first aid kit

Needless to say Shiro is hopeless in a canoe, but he’s a fast learner. And luckily he doesn’t freak out at how tippy it is

Getting the weight distribution right took a bit of creative maneuvering though. When they first got in, the front end where Shiro sat sank down, nearly lifting the back end clean out of the water. Keith ended up with all the bags pushed as close to his feet as possible

Once they get going Shiro finally starts to understand a bit of the appeal. The sun is warm and bright on the water, there’s a slight breeze keeping the air moving so it doesn’t get stifling hot, and the water isn’t too choppy. It’s so quiet, nothing but the sound of their paddles dipping in and out of the water as they pull further and further away from the put-in point, the rustle of trees along the shores and the occasional call of a loon or hawk or frog 

They talk sometimes, but Keith seems just as content going along in silence and Shiro follows suit, letting the sounds of nature lull him into a sense of peaceful calm

They leave the first lake to go up a small river that connects to a second lake. Here the water gets shallower and clearer, the bottom visible. The first time Shiro spots fish darting away from his paddle he gets so excited he nearly tips the canoe

When they reach the portage Shiro understands why Keith insisted on packing as light as possible. They unload everything, Shiro taking the two backpacks and Keith taking one plus the canoe, which he hoists onto his shoulders with the ease of having done it before

Finally they reach their campsite, nothing more than a cleared area of forest marked by a sign in a secluded bay off the second lake. The site’s best feature is the smooth gently sloping rock that leads from the water to the campsite proper, providing easy access

(Its worst feature, according to Shiro, is the wooden box with a hole cut in it set over a pit that serves as a toilet)

((Also the bugs, which hadn’t bothered them on the water but are out in full force in the forest))

By the time they’ve unpacked the canoe and pulled it ashore and set up the tent and made supper it’s getting dark, but they manage to catch the tail end of the sunset, cuddled together with a blanket on their rock, still warm from being in the sun all day

They stay on the rock until the stars come out, watching them come on one by one, listening to the sounds of the nighttime forest around them, whispering to each other, occasionally making out. They feel like the only 2 people in the world

Shiro: “I think I finally understand what you love so much about this”

Keith’s grin flashes in the dark right before he kisses Shiro

They go skinny dipping because they can, bobbing around with the endless stars reflected around them, chasing goosebumps across each other’s skin

When they crawl into the tent they’re both utterly exhausted from the long day and physical exertion, and they fall asleep within minutes, snuggled up together for warmth, the eerie cry of a loon the last thing they hear

[groggyvanfleet]

Goin Down // J.T.K

paring: priest!jake kiszka x reader

summary: you give a wild confession to the priest at your church 

(warning this is very 18+ MINORS DNI!!. includes, sex in a church, swearing, suggestive language, fingering, oral (m & f reciving, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), let me know if i forgot anything else.) 

word count: 2.4k 

Church was something you hated as a little girl and now in your early 20s you still hated it but even less now due to the fact your congregation had brought on a new priest and damn, was he the hottest priest you had ever laid eyes on.

Walking in through the doors of the building with your parents leading the way, you kept shifting your gaze to see if you could find him. Father Jacob Kiszka the youngest priest the church hired a couple of months ago. He was too handsome to be a priest with his long hair, sharp jaw, piercing brown eyes that somehow still held a softness in them and that smile. His smile was what first caught your attention, it was the most beautiful smile you ever saw on a person, it captivated you.  

Today was confession and boy did you have a lot to confess. Your parents let you know that they decided to skip and go ahead to their seats leaving you by yourself. Making your way into the confessional you sank to your knees with hands clasped together in front of you. The sound of wood sliding caught your attention and brought your eyes to the window of latticed woodwork. “Father forgive me for I have sinned.” You spoke in a calm voice. “What sin is troubling you child.” the voice on the other end replied. Instantly you knew who the voice belonged to the one who had caused your need for confession in the first place, Father Jacob. “Improper thoughts Father of a man, one who shouldn’t be thought of in this way.” breathing out your confession looking up as if holding eye contact with him. “Explain why child so that I may help you.” Letting a small smirk play against your lips letting your voice drop to a sultry whisper “You see Father he’s a man of the cloth and late at night when I'm alone with myself I think of him when I slip my fingers into myself imaging that its him instead of me.” After a moment of silence, you hear him clear his throat before speaking “Is that all?” Shaking your head as if he could see the action “No Father, I often imagine him bending me over the altar and taking me right in front of the whole congregation.” He cleared his throat once more saying “You need more help than we can accomplish in here today, say three Hail Mary's during your prayers in service and meet me behind the bibles after mass.”  

Making your way back to the main part of the church you quickly found where your parents had sat, you planted yourself beside them eyes forward as the rest of the pews began to fill up. Your gaze moved towards Jake as he made his way behind the altar setting his bible down on the light wood before moving his hands to signal everyone to stand. Making your way up you gripped the ends of the dress you chose to wear pulling it down below your knees making the neckline pull down farther exposing the tops of your breasts and some cleavage in its wake bringing your focus back to Jake as he swiftly turned his head back from you to his bible. As everyone around you joined hands Jake began reciting the lord's prayer. “Lead us not into temptation.” he said landing his eyes on you “but deliver us from evil. Amen.” Sending him a smile as you sat down you crossed your legs letting just a slight visual of your panties that only could be seen from his view.  

As service droned on you kept crossing and uncrossing your legs while slightly letting your dress travel farther and farther up your thighs before letting your ankles cross and leaving your black silk panties exposed through the slight gap you had left just for him. Seeing him visually trying to keep his composure through the sermon left a pool forming between your thighs, the way he was stumbling over words, eyes darting back and forth between your top and bottom he looked so cute when he was nervous. When everything was finished the people began lining up for communion. Taking your spot in line you kept your gaze on the young priest waiting for your turn. Finally reaching him you slowly sank to your knees looking up at him and letting your tongue stick out to retrieve the wafer he had for you. Feeling the bland cracker and the mix of salt from his finger meet your taste buds you let your lips trap the tip of his finger for a second letting your tongue glide over the pad of his finger. With his pointer finger still in your mouth you looked up into his eyes that were wide with shock and mouth slightly ajar as his adams apple bobbed up and down from swallowing harshly. Removing the digit from your lips he brought his other hand that was closed around the base of the cup filled with communion wine bringing it to your lips. Tipping the cup slightly to let the liquid pour into your mouth, eyes still meeting his over the rim taking in the view his chest falling and rising with deep breaths. Removing the cup from you and bringing yourself back onto your feet you wiped your mouth and turned away from him to join the others in silent prayer. Resuming your kneeling position, you shot him a quick smirk before closing your eyes and bowing your head for the next 30 minutes.  

Chatter filled the air as everyone around you was either talking about today's sermon or catching up with friends about what they did with their week with each other. Slipping past the groups of people you made your way to the supply closet where they kept extra supplies. Grabbing the doorknob, you gave it a turn and quickly made your way into the room. Closing the door behind you and flicking the light switch on as it flickered slightly before lighting the room permanently. Finding the shelf filled with bibles you made your way behind it while running your fingers across the covers. Stopping and grabbing one from the top beginning to thumb through the pages scanning over the text you feel a presence against your back and the feeling of hot breath fanning across your neck “You’re so sinful I think it's time I help you repent for your actions.” Turning around at the words you were met with Jake’s glare eyes dark and blown out. Moving his body closer to you till he had you back up against the shelf using his hands to run along the sides of you before bunching your dress around your waist. Taking one of his hands and moving your hair off your neck he leaned in ghosting his lips on the crook of your neck then letting his tongue lick a strip up to your ear lobe taking it between his teeth letting out a low growl as he pulled lightly making a small gasp leave your mouth. “Do you know how hard it was to focus on the scripture when all I could see was you spreading your legs open for me.” He breathed into your ear pressing his hips into yours. You could feel how hard he was against your leg causing more wetness to soak into the fabric of your underwear. Reaching a hand between you two and letting it rest on the bulge in his jeans palming him slowly through the fabric of his pants earning a low moan from him “I bet no woman has touched you like this before Father.” You said continuing your actions “Jake, call me Jake.” He said breathily grinding into your touch. Letting a light giggle at his neediness you moved your hand away from him and used it to undo his belt. Jake pulled himself away from you and sank to his knees grabbing the back of your knees as he kissed up and down your legs and slowly slid his hands up to your ass giving it a light squeezing then wrapping his fingers around the thin material of your underwear bringing it down your legs and letting it pull at your feet making you step out of them and kicking them away from the two of you. “Such a pretty pussy.” He said kissing above your clit. You moved one hand to tangle it in his hair while the other grabbed onto the shelf behind you. Using his hand to hike your left leg over his shoulder he peppered kisses around where you wanted his mouth the most making you let out whimpers of frustration. Using his pointer and middle finger to run up and down your slit collecting your slick on them then removing them to bring his covered fingers to his mouth inserting them and moaning at the taste of you. Moaning at the sight of him he chuckled and removed them with a pop “Heavenly,” He said using the same fingers to slide into you setting a slow pace of in and out while using his thumb to rub slow circles on your clit “Is this what you imagine late at night baby? My fingers pumping in and out of you?” He said kissing the inner of your thigh. Leaning your head against the shelf moaning at the words leaving his lips “I also think of how your mouth would feel on me.” You replied gripping onto his hair. Replacing his thumb with his tongue he began flicking it causing sparks of pleasure to run through your stomach and breathy moans to fill the air. “Oh my god Jake your tongue feels amazing.” You said using the hand teatherd in his hair to bring his mouth closer against you making him moan against your core the vibrations making your hips stutter “I'm g-gonna cum Jake.” Pulling himself away at your words you felt your orgasm dissipate letting out a slight cry at his missing mouth and fingers. Removing your leg from his shoulder Jake brought himself back up to your face pressing a hungry kiss to your lips the taste of yourself present on his tounge as it pushed past your lips and clashed with your own. Pulling away from him you got into a position you were so closely familiar with today. The coarse carpet rubbed against your knees as you slid Jake’s pants and underwear down letting his cock spring from its confines. Gasping at his size you looked up to see him smirking down at you as he placed a hand on the back of your head forcing himself in your mouth and down your throat till your nose was pressed against his stomach. Tears welled in your eyes at the stretch of your throat wasn’t used to the feeling of something this big. Using his hands to grab the sides of your head to hold it still he began thrusting himself in and out of your mouth letting out low grunts and growls as your throat squeezed him each time he went back in “Such a sinful mouth on an angel.” He moaned out throwing his head back. Releasing himself from your mouth with a trail of saliva still connecting your lips with his tip you gasped out finally glad having air back into your lungs. Gripping your arm, he brought you back up and turned you around pressing his front against you making your chest flush against the cool metal of the shelf. Reaching his hand around he pulled the top of your dress down along with your bra freeing your breast from the lacy material. Taking one of your nipples between his fingers using them to pull and roll them between his fingers letting high pitched moans out from the stimulation “I’ve been imaging what your tits looked like ever since service and god bless, they are perfect.” moaning at his words you pressed your ass back into him feeling his cock rub against your core. “Please Jake fuck me.” You begged him starting to grind against him for any sort of friction you could get.  

Smirking at you begging Jake lined himself with your entrance slowly seething himself in till he bottomed out letting a brutal moan out at the feeling of your walls squeezed against his cock. Wrapping your hair around his hand he began a grutal pace of hard and deep causing the shelf in front of you to creek and wobble sending some bibles to the floor with each thrust. The feeling of Jake’s cock pounding into you sent you to another plain of existence because for a man who devoted his life to God, he sure could fuck like one. “You’re so tight baby feels so good around my cock.” The words sent shivers down your back as all you could muster up was a whimper and moan of thank you. When his tip started brushing against your most sensitive spot you let out a scream causing one of Jake’s hands to fly up to your mouth muffling the sounds coming from you. Your legs felt like jelly as he continued his assaulting pace on you as muffled moans and the sound of skin on skin filled the room. Feeling your stomach starts to twist, signaling to you that you were close as your fluttering walls let Jake know as well. Speeding up his pace as Jake chased yours and his climax you let your eyes roll back into your head as he leaned down and whispered filthy praises in your ear “Yeah that’s a good girl cum all over my cock baby let it all go” and with that a muffled scream was let out into his hand as your legs started to shake making you fall even more into the shelf stars painting your vision as he continued chasing his own high. With a few deep thrusts Jake was coming undone arms pulling you into his chest as warm ropes of him painted your walls letting moans out at the feeling. You both stayed like this for a few minutes trying to catch your breath before he pulled himself out of you watching as his cum started to leak out and drip down your thighs. Grabbing your panties that had been disregarded you put them back on and fixed yourself as Jake did the same.  

“How many Hail Mary’s is that worth?”  

“I’ll put in a word with God.” 

taglist: @abbygvf @soul-0f-sunshine @gretavanfleas @teddiie @fleetsonfire @dannythedog @bumblebeeswrite​ 

[mnemosys]

  A few days had passed since their arrival. The head of the research department was keeping close surveillance on both of them, mostly on Lios, but he still hadn’t gotten their official interviews to take place. It was almost as if they were being purposefully kept locked up as its own form of observation, to see whether or which of them would crack first. So far, neither of them were playing into their trap, especially not Shiro who was the more diplomatic of the two. He used his numbered days in confinement as a way to get closer to the twins, and so far, he had gotten used to the positive feelings and affection that he was receiving, so much so that he was starting to abandon his thoughts of leaving.

  Other than that, the building had been relatively quiet, and so had the people living and working in it. Some lights going out in the containment sector, the elevator malfunctioning, strange shadows lurking beneath the panopticon and clinging to the ceiling of the training grounds when nobody bothered to look up - those were only some of the incidents that could have been written off as coincidence, but they had been constantly happening ever since Shiro popped up.

  That was the calm before the storm.

  In the middle of the night, while the guards and agents were changing their share of shifts, those shadows congregated on the upper corridor leading from the elevator towards the panopticon’s watchtower. The camera feed would show a visual glitch where something akin to a person started to manifest out of the shroud of darkness as if they were clawing their way out of a tar pit. Over the span of a few long seconds, the figure that emerged became clearer. Aware of the gazes cornering him from all sides, he turned his head towards one of the cameras at an unnatural, painful angle while the feed on the guard’s monitors shivered and hissed. The one staring at them with a corpse-like blankness in his eyes was the same one that they had on another feed, still in his cell.

  Without waiting another moment until something else happened, they remotely sounded off the caution alarms in the other sectors. The color of the lights changed to a yellowish hue, signaling caution. That was one step below the utmost priority, but it could have escalated at any time. The few guards that still remained in the sector past their work time started to regret it, fumbling with their headsets until they reached the proper channels. They had to make a quick and rash decision: to lock that thing outside, making it everyone else’s problem, or to lock it inside, with them.

  “We are shutting down the entrance,” one of them said over the headset just as the heavy sliding door of the containment sector fell shut in front of the other Shiro’s face. They didn’t want to risk more breaches, not knowing what could happen under the circumstances. Their Shiro was still in his hamster cage, looking confused by the commotion. 

      “How did it get past the elevator without anyone seeing it?” More indecipherable chatter could be heard in the background, a chaotic bustle of disoriented people who were trying to come up with the best solution while severely underprepare for a breach-type situation. 

      “Shut down the elevator too!” another voice called out.

      Whatever solutions they were coming up with on the spot all seemed to only further narrow their own options. In the meantime, unaffected by the obstacle in front of his eyes, the intruder banged on the door, making it echo throughout the acoustic hallway. When he realized that it wouldn’t open back up, he started looking for another way around and spotted the elevator at the opposite end of the corridor.

@eeriestatic​

[sunshineseung]

Where You Belong // Minho

🍄 | genre: smut (and angst if you squint) ☁️ | pairing: Lee Minho x female!reader 🌿 | wc: 2.9k 🌸 | includes: hard dom!minho, sub!reader, religious themes, slapping, spanking (with bible 😳 omg im filthy), hair pulling, spitting, finger sucking, minho’s big, face fucking, crying, begging, praise/degradation, unprotected sex, bulge kink/distension, breeding, no aftercare :(, [spoiler] demon/succubus!minho

☀️ | synopsis: You go to your church to worship God, but you soon find out who you should really be on your knees for. 

🌊 | requested: “I have a request! 😶 Could you maybe do something like Sinner but for Minho?” your wish is my command sweet annonie~

You’re kneeled down and bowing your head, mentally repenting to the Lord above. It’s late at night, but not late enough for the Church to be locked. The soft light from distant old lamps illuminate your figure, the red carpet beneath you softly separating your knees from the hard oak floor.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” You widen your eyes and look up, being disrupted mid-prayer by a man you’ve never seen at the congregation before. He’s average height with shaggy brown hair, wearing a black leather jacket with a white tee shirt underneath and black skinny jeans to contrast. Needless to say, he looks far from the usual churchgoer.

“Yes, but please be quiet. This is a place of worship.” Your tongue sounds sharp as you vaguely scold the stranger, him kneeling next to you, staring at you as you go back to prayer. You can feel his eyes on you, tracing your body. “Sir, if you’re not going to pray, can you please move somewhere else?”

“Pray? Why would I do that?” He laughs and stands up, his eyes never leaving yours. You roll your eyes and stand up with him, but he quickly puts his hand on your shoulder and forces you back down. “Hey, stay on your knees. You look better like that.”

“I don’t know who you are, but that is disgusting!” With your arms folded, you turn your head away from him, refusing to look at him. “Perverts like you shouldn’t be allowed in the house of God.”

“If it’s so disgusting, then why did you listen to me?” He leans down, his face right next to yours. You can feel his breath on the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His body heat is so much warmer than yours, and you feel yourself cower from his presence. “Looks like you like being on your knees for more than God.”

“That’s why I’m praying, and I suggest you do the same, sir.” While you speak, he takes off his jacket and throws it onto a pew, stretching his arms out, showing off his muscles. He puts his hand on the top of your head, scratching you as if you’re a puppy. “Sir-“

“Keep calling me sir like that and I might have to make you worship me instead.” You feel your body freeze, feeling far out of your comfort zone. Your body is shaking, and you need to stand up, but you can’t. There’s something inside you that refuses to allow you to get off of your knees. As much as your brain is telling you to run away, your body wants you to stay. “You’re praying because you’re a whore, huh? You like sleeping around, letting any cock that comes your way use your little cunt like a toy?”

You swallow the spit collecting in your mouth, your lungs feeling empty as you try to respond. Nothing can come out of your mouth, head going empty, only forcing out a whine. What has come over you?

“God doesn’t forgive just anyone, ya know? They have to prove that they’re worthy of forgiveness.” He pets your hair more, making all your thoughts leave your head as he grips your scalp. You finally look at him in the eyes, his brown eyes turning black as he looks down at you like you’re his prey. “What have you done to be forgiven other than be a little cumslut?”

“N-nothing I suppose.” Your mouth feels dryer than a desert, your eyes trying to focus on something, anything, just to bring you back to reality.

“Then maybe you should just do what you’re best at, hm?” He pulled you head back by your hair, forced your mouth open with his fingers, and dove his digits to the back of your throat to test your reflexes. “Slutty little angel takes my fingers so well. I wonder how well you’ll take my cock.” He pries your mouth open with his drool-coated fingers and spits down your throat, closing your mouth with his hand on your chin to make you swallow. “You’re such a fucking pervert. Don’t you know the Lord is watching?” 

“What’s your name?” You look up at him, feeling your senses slowly return to you. “I don’t want to go any further if I don’t know your name.”

“Oh, so you’re willing to go further?” He raises his eyebrow, a wicked smirk growing across his face. “My name is Minho, but you call me sir. Master works too, love.”

“We shouldn’t do this in a church.” You finally stand up, but Minho grabs your body just as you get on your feet and pulls you towards him, his hands roaming across your body, feeling every dip and rise. He hums in your ear, his large hands cupping your tits and squeezing them, making you groan. “Th-this isn’t appropriate.”

“No bra?” He slaps your chest, your body violently arching as he inflicts pain. His teeth harshly bite into your neck, lips sucking bruises onto the skin. “How much you wanna bet that you’re not wearing panties either?”

You go silent, one of his hands leaving your breast and sliding down your body between your legs, feeling your pussy directly under your jeans. You whimper quietly as his finger presses against your clit, the rough denim causing an uncomfortable stimulation to your most sensitive area.

“Just as I thought. You come here to repent to your God, and yet your body is begging to be fucked.” He pushes you off of his body, you weakly standing to your feet as you look back at him, his eyes a dark shade of red. “Are you sure we can’t fuck in a church? This place has so many toys for us to play with, baby.”

“T-toys?” You look around the room as you back away from him, scared he’ll snap and pounce on you. “There are no sex toys here.”

“Not conventional ones, but I see something I can easily use to put you in your place.” He walks up to you and turns you around, bending you over one of the pews. He pushes your face down into the musty church seat as he grips your hair, holding it up so he can kiss the back of your neck. “Stay still, angel. This is what you deserve.”

“Huh?” Before you can comprehend what’s going on, you feel a hearty thwack against your ass, still covered by your jeans. It didn’t sound like anything you’ve ever heard before, the impact sounding hollow from whatever he hit you with. “What was that?”

“I think you people call it,” Minho pulls down your pants, fully exposing your bare ass and dripping cunt to the open church, “a Bible?”

You can practically hear the smile in his voice, another hit falling against your ass, this time feeling much more intense from the lack of protection between you and the works of the Lord.

“People like you always walk around with their nose in the air, feeling above everyone around them.” Minho spanks you again, harder than before. “You’re just as much of a sinner as the rest of your kind, slut. Know your fuckin’ place.”

“W-what do you mean my kind?” He doesn’t answer your question of course, another slap from the Bible making your ass a bright red. Your skin is burning with pain. You’ve never felt like this before: used and abused, yet mentally begging for more.

“Dumb whore hasn’t caught on yet?” Minho laughs at your quivering body, running his hands up your back from under your shirt. With one pull, your shirt is over your head, tossed to the dusty floor of the old building. He bends himself over you, his bulge pressing directly against your aching pussy. “You were right, sweetheart. Perverts like me shouldn’t be allowed here, but not for the reasons you’re thinking.”

Your raise can only be raised from the seat so much, turned to the side so you can breath. You feel out of it even though he hasn’t properly fucked you. Nothing has ever made you feel like this before, and you writhe inside imagining what this man was about to do to you, and how eagerly you’d take whatever he gave you.

“We have more in common than you think, you know?” His mouth is right next to your hear, lightly sucking on the shell. “Sex is our vice. You can’t deny that.”

“Please fuck me, sir,” you whine, pressing your ass back against his crotch. He hisses, feeling his raging cock strangle itself against his tight pants. “Don’t care where we are. Need your cock.”

“Bitches like you are overpowered so easily.” He rustles his cock out of his pants, pulling his tight jeans down his thighs so his cock can press between your ass, thrusting through your folds, but not slipping in. You’re absolutely soaked, lubing his cock with your juices. He feels so big, you’re not sure if you can take it all. “Back on your knees. Master wants to see how well your mouth can take a real cock.”

You obediently hop up, moving away from him to get on your knees and kneel before him, looking up to him like he was your one true God. Being naked in a church was already sending you to hell, so much more trouble with your savior could you possible get into?

He quickly grabs your head, your mouth falling open as his tip enters your mouth. He pulls your head back down his shaft, forcing his cock down your mouth in one swift movement. You choke on his length, the size of him causing your jaw to ache after seconds. His cock is so big and veiny, but you love the weight of it pressing against your tongue.

Minho ruthlessly fucks your mouth, your lips turning red as he abuses your throat. Spit drips down your chin as you continuously take him down your throat, tongue loose against the bottom of his length. Minho’s groaning loudly, and surely anyone else in this church would have heard him. He throws his head back, his thrusts into your mouth getting sloppy as his hands roughly make a mess of your hair.

“Such a good mouth, baby.” You hum on his cock, the vocal vibrations causing him to shiver. He’s leaking precum down your throat, his cock twitching as his orgasm grows near. Your mouth begins to grow sore, painful-induced tears rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the drool around your mouth. “So messy for your master, hm?”

Minho harshly pulls out of your mouth, leaving your jaw hung open from the abuse. He’s breathing heavily, looking down at you as his hands slip from your head to your shoulders. You look up at him with water eyes, trying to decipher is expression. His eyebrows were furrowed, but he had a crooked smile. He looked like Lucifer himself had climbed out of hell to drag you back down with him.

“Beg for it, angel. Beg for my cock.” He taps your bottom lip with his tip, not allowing you to taste another drip of him. You whine and squint your eyes, desperately looking for any words while your mind was elsewhere. “What’s got you so shy? You want my cock to stuff your pussy, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, sir.” Your legs shake as he pulls you up by your arms, grabbing onto your ass as your legs wrap around his hips, his cock presses against your heat. “P-please!”

“You can do better than that.” He drops you onto the seat you had found yourself bent over only minutes prior, legs spread, pussy ready to be used by your master. Minho climbs on top of you, pressing the tip of his cock against your hole without plunging in. “What do you want, slut?”

“I want master to fuck my cunt like he owns me. Please fuck me, master! Need your cum inside me~” you trail off at the end, staring down at where his cock teases your greedy hole. He pushes the tip in, stretching you out just enough to make you wince for a moment before whining for more. “Fill me with your cock, please!”

“My angel wants to be bred now?” His transition between praise and degradation made your head spin, but you loved every name he called you. “You want to be bred by a demon, sweetheart? Feel my hot cum inside you? Drip out of you after I’m done with you?”

“D-demon?” Your heart starts beating. If you weren’t sinning enough already by fucking in a church, all the subtle hints Minho had been dropping up ‘til then suddenly made sense. “You’re a-”

“Don’t dwell on it too much. Just let your master show you how much fun it is to be bad, alright?” You nod as he pushes himself in, his length feeling like a stab to your abdomen. His body on your was so hot, and not just metaphorically, but also literally. You were sweating bullets by the time his cock was fully buried inside you, your walls hugging his fat cock like he was made for you. He groaned deep, falling into your shoulder, biting at your collarbone as he began to pull out and thrust back in. “You’re tight for someone who gets her body exploited so often.”

His hands find your wrists, pinning your hands to the sides of your head while he fucks into you, the drag of your walls making him moan in your ear. You were trying your damndest not to scream his name in the echoey church hall, but it was becoming difficult the more his presence overwhelmed you. He watched your face struggle between pain and pleasure, feeling himself get to the edge just from looking at you. To pause his impending orgasm, he looks down at where he was connected with you, but that proved to make his job even harder.

“I’m fucking you so good, my little whore. You can see my cock make your stomach bulge.” Just saying that made him hiccup, holding himself back from letting go and intensely pounding into you. He moves a hand from your wrist and presses it against your lower abdomen, making you feel even tighter on his cock. “Fuck- good girl.”

He rams his cock into your sweet spot effortlessly, hitting it with every stroke. Your back arches, your orgasm nearing it’s edge. All your nerves stand on their end as your legs squirm around Minho, finally wrapping around his hips again and pulling him into you, his cock reaching deeper than before. You moan loudly as you cum around his cock, Minho making the slightest movements of hips to help you reach your peak. You looked like you were glowing, tightening and spasming around his aching cock. Now that you came, it was Minho’s turn. Your legs fell from Minho’s hips, signaling that it was his time.

“I’m gonna cum so deep inside you, angel.” Minho wastes no time waiting to return to his pace, if anything going faster than before. The sound of skin slapping and moaning was so violent. You were overwhelmed by the situation, your pussy becoming a beacon of pain as he mercilessly railed your pussy. “You want master to fill you up with his cum, right slut?”

“Please cum inside me, master.” You were sobbing, both from the pain of the overstimulation and the pleasure from Minho’s raging cock. “Please? For your angel?”

“Anything for my angel.” He groans, nearing a growl, as he cums inside you, completely bottomed out as his seed spills onto your walls. You felt so full, almost too full, as he sits inside you, gently fucking his release back into you. Before he pulls out, he leans down and kisses your soft lips, a soft, sweet kiss. “You took me so well.”

We pulls his cock out of you, hissing when his flaccid dick falls out of you, watching his cum drip down your ass to the expensive fabric of the pew. You both hold your position, catching your breath and clearing your minds, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Ya know, they say humans are tighter... they’re right.” Minho pulls his underwear and pants back up, getting fully dressed and prettied up before walking away from your fucked out form. “See you around, babe?”

“Minho, wait!” You hold your hand out, but he’s out the front door before you can catch his attention. You’re not entirely sure that you will ‘see him around,’ but even if you do, that doesn’t distract you from the fact that you’re now naked in a church. The place you came to worship and repent. The place you came to escape the vice of lust. “Guess I’ll be going home now.”

You look up at the clock over the back door and notice it hasn’t changed since you walked it. After you’re fully dressed, the second hand starts ticking. Time itself seemed to have stopped. You were deeply disturbed, but you just had to go home. Maybe it was all a dream.

You lay in bed that night, sleeping peacefully, having a real dream, and Minho’s shadowy figure stands next to you, staring at your body, wishing it was him sharing that space next to you. A chill runs down your spine, forcing you awake in a cold sweat as Minho leaves through the window, unknown to you. You just thought you were having a nightmare.

I know I can’t be with her, but a demon can dream, right?

[sunnysviolin]

i am looking at mafia au heromari (and to heromari in general) lovingly

ohohoho Mafia AU my beloved :DDD Honestly it's probably one of my favorite AUs that I have. I've been thinking about Hero and Mari's wedding in this AU quite a lot, and I think I'll expand on that if y'all wanna hear some more *eyes emoji* I put it under a read more because it's long. It's so long

Like I said before Hero and Mari get married at 17. It's a beautiful day in late April. Spring has fully come into bloom, and the entire town of Faraway seems to be preparing for the impending wedding. Both Mari and Hero's families are very well known, and the speed at which the wedding was put together has left a lot of heads turned and cautious whispers.

It was more than easy to arrange everything, because no one would dare to say no to participating in a marriage between these two families. Daphne and Bowen are making the cake, the dress will be the top priority of the seamstress, caterers and flowers and all of the other paraphernalia only have to hear the names of the couple, and suddenly anything is possible. Hero's parents arrange most of it, Hero and Mari simply have to say what they want, and they will make it happen. They're having the service in the local church, and then a grand reception in a rather large venue nearby, all ready in a matter of weeks.

Hero and Mari would have preferred a quiet intimate party of just their family at Mari's estate (Just Mari's now. Mari's and Sunny's) but Hero's parents persuaded them to go larger. Not only would it seem rude for the new head of a family to not invite other "colleagues", weddings are also a great chance to make deals. Hero and Mari agree with the promise that they will have a peaceful dinner once the politics are over and done with.

Hero and Mari don't really have a chance to discuss if they feel ready to get married or not. Not only are Hero's parents expecting it, but so are the rest of the higher ups in both of their organizations. It's not just a marriage for love anymore, now it's a marriage of necessity. Not getting married isn't an option unless they want to have a full blown turf war on their hands.

Mari hasn't really felt anything since she killed her father. She feels blank, not empty but grey. Sensations don't feel like they reach her. Hero knows something is wrong with his girl, but with all the preparations he barely has time to think about his own feelings on everything, let alone Mari's.

It's not until she's getting into her dress the morning of their wedding that it all hits Mari. Daphne is slowly doing up every silk button on her back, and Hero's mother is arranging a silver tiara in her hair, which is pulled up into an artful knot. Hero's mother is watching her with misty eyes, and she blames hormones. Sally is sleeping soundly in a wicker bassinet on the floor nearby.

It's Sally that brings Mari back into her body. Sally, and Hero's mother's words. You'll see when you have a baby, I probably cry as much as she does. It's just a joke, something to make Mari smile and laugh politely. Instead it sends a lightning bolt through her body, and she stiffens. Hero's mother doesn't notice. Daphne does.

Daphne makes excuses to get them alone, and she moves so she's in front of Mari. Mari who is in a wedding dress. Mari who is getting married today. She's getting married, and she will be walking down the aisle alone. She killed the person who was supposed to walk her down the aisle. She shot her Dad, and now she's marrying the love of her life. She has to marry him, and they'll have to have children, and those children will have to carry on her family's organization, and...Mari can't breathe.

Daphne leaves and promises to come back quickly with help. She finds her brother with Hero and the boys getting ready. She makes an excuse to get Bowen and Hero out of the room and tells them that something is wrong with Mari. She isn't sure what, but something is definitely wrong. They speedily and stealthily race over to the room Mari had been in, but she's gone.

Bowen and Daphne keep up their calm appearances, but Hero can see the panic in their eyes. There's only a half hour till they have to be at the church. He can feel his own heart starting to beat at a clip, but he takes a steadying breath and focuses. There's only a few places Mari would go. He sends Daphne and Bowen to stay with Kel and Sunny to keep them calm, and tells them to make sure everyone else gets to the church. He'll take care of Mari. He always does.

Hero escapes out the kitchen door of his parent's estate, sliding out the back gate and away from anyone who might ask questions. His destination isn't too far away, and he knows the route there with his eyes closed. As he walks, he thinks.

The door to Mari's house is ajar, and he shuts it behind him when he steps into the foyer. It's a lovely entrance, big and spacious with high ceilings and wide windows. But now the air inside feels stale, reminding him that the house isn't what it used to be. A fine layer of dust sits on everything, and it's cold even in the warm of the day. Mari and Sunny have been staying at his house and doing their business there. No one has come here since the night of Mari's seventeenth birthday. The house is nearly silent, except for the sound Hero had been expecting.

He walks through the hallways, to a room next to a grand staircase. There is no door to this room, so the music that is created within can ring through the whole home. Mari's back is to the doorway, and Hero's thoughts escape him when he sees her. The dress is perfect, her hair is perfect, he's never seen her more beautiful. And Mari is shaking.

He is the only one who gets to see this side of her- the vulnerable sweet girl that still exists underneath the hardened exterior. Even their siblings don't see this, only big sister serenity. Hero is the only one Mari trusts to see her fall apart.

She sits at the piano and her fingers never waver in their tune, but her shoulders are trembling, and her breath hitches. She doesn't try to hide it, she's never hidden anything from him. He sits next to her on the piano bench, slowly lowering himself down so they're side by side. They don't speak at first, not until Mari has calmed and her breath is steady again. She doesn't cry, and he doesn't expect her to. In the anxious silence, Hero finally gathers the courage to ask her the question that's been scaring him since Daphne came rushing into his room.

"Do you even want to get married, Marigold?"

The old nickname gets Mari's shaking starting again and she stops her melody, leaning her head against his shoulder. She doesn't know. Mari loves Hero, she loves him more than she's loved anyone. Even Sunny. Hero is hers, he is her person, and she is his. It just all is happening so fast, and it's for everyone else, not them. She did what she had to, and she doesn't regret it, but she didn't know what would come. She wasn't prepared for all of this.

Hero lets her get it all out, lets her talk and talk. Then when she's finally done, he talks. He agrees it's all fast. He agrees it's for everyone else, but he doesn't see that as a bad thing. It just means that he and Mari have already made their vows. They were made when she saved his family and his life. They were made when his family took her and Sunny in. They were made when they were just little ones sitting at this very piano and talking day after day.

He tells her that he doesn't care if they ever get married. For them, it's just a formality. If she wants to run, he'll run with her. If she wants to stay, he will be by her side. He doesn't need to make a vow of that, she already knows. Mari intertwines their fingers and leaves her head on his shoulder, and they sit together in the quiet. Eventually Mari tears herself away and stands up, holding her hand out to Hero.

They walk out of the house together, and down the sidewalk towards the church. The whole place is packed, and there's a large congregation waiting. Hero and Mari walk down the aisle together, neither alone, not anymore. When the pastor asks her, Mari said I Do without any hesitation.

[mymoonagedaydream]

Only the Good Die Young (Part 1)

Summary: Coming home from college for the summer, you expected your days to be spent reading in your bedroom and sitting through tense to family dinners- but an old acquaintance had something else in mind for you

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Language, strong anti-religious sentiment throughout, harmful relationship with parents, irresponsible motorcycle healthy and safety measures, smoking

Author's Note: Something a bit different, why the hell not. This story is based around lyrics from Billy Joel's 'Only the Good Die Young'. What a man.

---

'Y/n! You look… healthy.' 

Those were your mother's first words as you walked through the door of your family home. Not saying how pleased she was to see you or asking how your flight was, but commenting on how you looked with her typical passive-aggressive euphemisms.

This was going to be a long summer. 

Initially you were adamant about staying at your dorm, even on your own. All you wanted was peace and space. Then your parents threatened to cut you off if you didn't come home, so here you were. 

You traipsed upstairs. Approaching your bedroom, you saw the bolt haphazardly screwed to the outside of the door. Your father had installed it when you were twelve, after he caught you watching ‘ungodly’ TV shows in the living room at midnight- Doctor Who. 

Your room had been redecorated. It looked fucking dreadful. You glanced up at the wall and a little bit of sick shot up to the back of your mouth when you saw a ‘live, laugh, love’ sticker plastered up there. 

A long, long summer.

---

Your first errand was grocery shopping. Wandering around the store, you grabbed everything on the list and headed to the checkout. Through the front window you saw billows of smoke blowing past, but you couldn’t quite see where they were coming from. 

As you stepped outside, you looked over to see a pretty big group of guys in leather jackets, most of them with cigarettes on the go. They were gathered around the corner of the building, the one you had to walk past to get home. You kept your head down, gripping your grocery bags tight and passing them as quickly as possible, when you heard one of them pipe up. 

'Well holy shit. Y/n?'

You turned towards the voice. James Barnes. 

The two of you went to high school together but, apart from the occasional stilted conversation and reluctant group project, you’d never really developed any sort of relationship. Besides, he always hung out with people your mother didn't approve of. 

And he was what, now? In a motorcycle gang? Figures. 

'Hi James. Good to see you.' You mumbled, breaking stride momentarily. His friends seemed to find that funny. 

'People call me Bucky now.' 

Nodding feebly, you gave him a polite smile before moving off again. You noticed that your face felt warm and your stomach was involuntarily tensing. Sure, he was much more handsome and charismatic than you remembered, but you had no idea why being in his presence was making you this nervous. You heard approaching footsteps and in a second he was by your side, walking next to you.

'You moving back to town?'

'No, just visiting for the summer.'

‘Are your parents still religious nut-jobs?'

You stopped and snapped your head round, in complete shock at the brazenness of his questioning.

'I'll take that as a yes.’ Without taking his eyes off you he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, placed one between his lips and lit it. ‘Guessing you won't be having much fun this summer then.'

'Probably not your kind of fun.' 

He smirked and stepped towards you. ‘Man, you Catholic girls start much too late.’

‘I don’t think I asked for your opinion, James.’ It came out much softer than you anticipated, barely a mumble. Not the kind of back-off-or-else warning you were aiming for. He was really getting under your skin.

'You didn’t, but I’ll give you another.’  

You raised an eyebrow, watching him blow a cloud of smoke out over your head and chuckle at your expression. Against your better judgement, you waited for him to carry on.

‘I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.' He stepped closer again, bringing his lips close to your ear, and whispered. 'Cause the sinners are much more fun.'

---

You dropped the shopping on the counter. The whole way home you hadn’t been able to get James Barnes out of your head, hadn’t been able to stop picturing his smirk or imagining his warm breath tickling your ear. 

You wanted to know more about him, and if anyone had information it'd be your mother. She knew everything about everyone in this godforsaken town. Sitting down for dinner, you seized your opportunity.

'I saw James Barnes at the grocery store today.'

She abruptly dropped her knife and it hit her plate with a sharp clang, making you jump.

'You stay away from that boy.' She punctuated the words by pointing her fork at you. 'He's trouble. Him and his gang.'

You hated the way she spoke to you sometimes, like you were a child. You were in your twenties for fuck’s sake. 

'He seemed nice enough.'

‘That’s how it starts.’ Your father piped up. ‘Before you know it he’s got you hooked on drugs, living in a trailer, pregnant with his deviant child.’ 

And that was the end of that conversation. 

Being away, you’d almost forgotten how messed up your parents were. It was terrifying to think that you used to be just as bad. They had you completely brainwashed before you left for college and, even now, some of their intrusive religious dogma still lingered in your subconscious. 

---

Sunday. The priest was droning on about something but you weren’t concentrating, his dull voice just sounded like a janky old extractor fan whirring behind the altar. You stood, sat, stood, kneeled, sat along with everyone else like sheep being herded, singing and praying whenever prompted. This, every Sunday for ten weeks, was going to be torture.

An hour or so into the service, you felt yourself nodding off. Your shoulders relaxed and your head felt too heavy to be held up by your neck but, just as your eyes started to close, something startled you. Startled the whole congregation. The droning from the altar stopped and heads turned towards the door, where the disturbance was coming from. 

It sounded like a shuddering motorbike engine. Then another joined. In a couple of seconds the entire church was filled with an echoing cacophony of backfiring engines. 

Someone at the back stood up and ran to the door. There was some shouting and laughing, but the noise eventually moved away, fading into the distance. Looking around, you saw a sea of indignant and sour faces. The tension hovering in the air was palpable.

‘And that,’ your mother hissed through clenched teeth, ‘is why you don’t go near James Barnes and his friends.’

You had to suck in your cheeks to smother your laughter, nodding insincerely at her words. James’ voice echoed in your head…

The sinners are much more fun.

---

A couple days later, one of your old friends invited you to a house party- or ‘board game night’ as you told your parents. Parties were usually a little out of your comfort zone, but you’d do anything to get out of their house for an evening. 

Wandering from room to room, you checked if there was anyone else there you recognised. Nope. You skulked to the kitchen and opened a can of diet coke. 

There was a hard tap on your shoulder and you turned to see James Barnes’ wide smile.

‘Hey there.’

‘Hi James.’ You muttered, taking a sip of your drink. ‘I heard your little stunt outside the church last week. You make a habit of that?’

‘Nope. Just thought it’d be nice to welcome you home.’ 

Interesting. That whole thing was for you? Your stomach started to flutter with excitement despite part of your brain screaming that he was probably just mocking you, flirting with you for a bet. To save any potential embarrassment, you went on the defensive. 

‘Gee, thanks. Are you and your friends always that obnoxious James?’

‘Ah y’know.’ He leant against the counter, folding his arms, still grinning at you. ‘We might be laughing a bit too loud, but that never hurt no one.’

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest and doing everything you could to keep a lid on how excited his deep chuckles were making you. He bit his lip and your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your chest. 

‘And call me Bucky.’ He pushed himself off the counter, disappearing into the crowd.

Hours passed and you eventually realised that you weren’t really having a great time. Everyone around you was borderline hammered but you knew if your parents got a whiff of alcohol you’d be locked inside all summer, so you were stone-cold. 

You snuck out the back door, swiftly sliding it shut. Focusing more on what was happening behind you than in front, you managed to unceremoniously trample over someone’s feet. 

James, of course it was. Brilliant. 

He was leant against the wall, finishing off a cigarette. Chuckling, he held out the pack to you, but you shook your head. 

‘Leaving so soon?’ He grunted.

‘Yeah, not really my scene.’

‘Same here. Want to go somewhere else?’ Your heart stuttered at his question. You struggled to form a reply, gazing at him wide-eyed. He smirked and looked away. 'It’s alright, I know the deal. Your mother told you all I could give you was a reputation, right?'

You couldn’t hold back your excited smile anymore and his eyes lit up when he saw it. Shrugging faintly, your mind scurried around trying to find something witty and attractive to say. He dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it under his boot before slowly approaching you. Stopping a couple inches away, he smirked down at your dazed expression.

‘Come out with me tomorrow.’

---

You told your mother that you were having a day at the local library. You weren’t necessarily lying- you had no idea what Bucky had in mind, so anything was a possibility. 

He was waiting by the monument in the town centre, like he’d said yesterday. 

‘So,’ you said, prompting him to turn towards you and smile, ‘what are we doing?’

He held his elbow out and you snaked your hand through it. 

‘You’ll see.’

Much to your surprise, he took you to the fair. You wandered around, hand enclosed in his, talking and laughing for hours. He bought you a hot dog and spent ages trying to win you a stuffed giraffe, but his aim wasn’t great. You couldn’t hold back your laughter after he missed for the fourth time, so he picked you up, swung you around and shouted that he was going to sell you to the carnival. 

When both of you were tired and full, he walked you to the park, pulling you down next to him on a bench and wrapping his arm tight around your waist.

‘Thanks Bucky.’ You said faintly.

‘For what?’

‘Didn’t think I’d be having much fun this summer, but I had a really nice time.’

He smirked and scooched even closer to you, his firm thigh pressed against yours and his thumb gently stroking your hip. There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds before he muttered to himself.

‘It ain’t right.’

‘What?’

He sighed, brushing his chin against your hair. ‘Your parents. Catholics, man- they just built you a temple and locked you away. You’ve barely lived.’

‘It’s not all bad.’ You whispered, relaxing your head against his shoulder and angling your face up towards his. 

‘Maybe.’ Adjusting himself, he turned towards you and put his free hand under your chin. ‘But that stained-glass never really lets in the sun.’

He pressed his lips against yours. Your stomach flipped. His hand moved from your chin to cradle the side of your neck and his thumb brushed softly across your cheek. He pressed towards you more firmly, sliding his tongue along your lips. He tasted like cigarettes and candy floss. Your knees tensed and your thighs started shaking. He must’ve noticed, because you felt a deep chuckle vibrating into your mouth, but that only made it worse. You melted into him, just about steadying yourself by gripping the lapels of his jacket. 

He pulled away, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck, keeping a tight grip on your waist. 

‘Not bad for a church girl.’

---

‘What is this?!’ Your mother burst into your room, looking horrified and holding her phone out in front of her.

You squinted at the screen, it was a photo. You and Bucky holding hands at the fair. Shit.

‘Where did you get that?’ You muttered.

‘Angela sent it to me. She saw you there, with him.’

You stood from your bed, ready to plead with her. ‘Look, he’s a nice guy, he’s-’ 

‘He is a criminal. And if you think you’re seeing him again, you’re wrong.’ She turned and started to storm away. 

You felt anger bubbling inside, nothing like you’d ever felt before. Everything Bucky had said, his anger at your parents- he was right. You’d thought about it before, of course you had, but all you’d ever felt was a kind of defeated acceptance. Now, you were pissed.  

‘I am not a fucking child.’ You screamed.

She jerked to a stop. Slowly twisting round, you saw her face was filled with venom. ‘We’ll speak again when you’re ready to apologise.’ She hissed, slamming your door behind her. You heard it lock.

Wow, that felt good. Really good. You flopped down onto your bed. Your head was spinning but you were grinning to yourself, still half in disbelief. You’d never stood up to her like that before and you were starting to regret not doing it sooner. 

Your phone started buzzing- Bucky.

‘Hi.’ You sighed into it.

‘Come to the window.’

Your gaze darted to the far end of your room and you fumbled off your bed. After briefly scanning the skyline, your eyes flickered down to the backyard lawn. Bucky was standing underneath your window, holding his phone to his ear, beaming up at you.

‘Came to ask if you wanted to come out, figured I probably shouldn’t knock on the front door.’

‘So you break into the garden?’ You chuckled.

He shrugged and flung his free arm out. ‘It’s romantic.’

‘Sure is.’ You grinned down at him before remembering where you were. ‘I can’t Buck. One of my mother’s friends saw us together yesterday. I’m locked in.’

‘Man, you’re living with psychopaths.’ You nodded and gave him a disheartened smile. ‘Look, I know they’re your parents, but you really don’t owe them anything. Especially after everything they’ve done.’

His words echoed around in your head, slowly becoming more convincing as you considered them. Before you could respond, the light from the room below you switched on and Bucky was immediately illuminated with bright yellow light. Without missing a beat, he sprinted towards the fence and vaulted into next door’s garden. You heard a breathy ‘I’ll see you soon babe’ through the phone before he hung up.  

Your father ran out of the back door, pretty quickly deciding not to give chase. He looked up at you with anger in his eyes but you didn’t waver. You were already locked in your room for the foreseeable future, what else could he possibly do?

---

He could force you to clean all the floors in the house on your hands and knees, apparently. Scrubbing for hours and hours with him watching over you like a hawk. Your parents had pretty swiftly gone from strict but harmless religious zealots to borderline prison wardens. As soon as he left the room, you pulled your phone out and hammered out a message to Bucky. 

Will you come get me? I need out.

You stared at your screen, willing him to reply before your father came back. After what felt like ages, it finally buzzed.

On my way. Pack a bag.

You jumped up from the floor and sprinted up the stairs to your room, grabbing handfuls of whatever you could reach and shoving it into your backpack. You heard your father scurrying around on the ground floor before stomping up the stairs, shouting your name. Before he made it to your room, the faint rumble of a motorbike engine started in the distance and your heart jumped.

Running into the hallway, you pushed past your father without even looking up at him and scrambled down the stairs. You pulled the front door open and a wall of fresh air hit you, allowing you to take your first clean, deep breath of the day. Since you woke up all you’d been doing was huffing floor-cleaning chemicals.

Bucky came round the corner on his bike and you almost felt like bursting into tears. Waves of relief passed through every muscle in your body and you ran down the front steps to meet him.

You leapt on to the back of his bike, still in your pyjamas, and wrapped your arms around his waist as tight as you could. It felt like you were running entirely on adrenaline. Your parents were screaming your name behind you, but they were quickly drowned out by the roaring of the motorbike coming back to life. 

‘Shit, I’m not exactly dressed for a ride.’ You mumbled into his ear through your heavy breaths. ‘Don’t even have a helmet.’

You felt him vibrate with laughter as he gunned the engine and sped away.

‘Ah, don’t worry, you’ll be fine darlin.’ He raised his arm and flipped off your parents. ‘Only the good die young.’

---

Part Two

---

[cozycornerwritings]

7 Minutes of Spin the Bottle

Sure you were definitely an upcoming hero, but what you didn’t expect was to be invited to a Pro hero party. You could have your quirk to thank, a quirk of luck.

No matter how lucky you are, your quirk cannot save you from your own self inflicted stupid problems. Today you had argued with EaserHead himself, in front of his own class that he invited you to. To be fair you did have an amazing point, at least you thought you did. So much so that you left the classroom in shock in awe as you walked out.

After the horrible day you’ve had you definitely are looking forward to the little slice of heaven tonight, in fact the angel himself, Hawks, would be there. Your thirst has no bounds, therefore you accepted FatGums invitation without hesitation. Although EraserHead would be there, if your quirk could save you from murderous villains it can certainly save you from an awkward conversation.

......

Thiccgum: you pulling up soon y/n?

🍀: yee, I’m at the door come get me

You found yourself at someone’s apartment. Whose you may ask? You had absolutely no idea. You knock lightly and the door opens up to one of your favorite people.

“Taishiro, hug hug.” You open your arms up to the giant man and FatGum happily picks you up into a monster embrace.

“I hope you are ready y/n, the food at these pro hero parties are the bomb.” FatGum squeezes you lightly and sets you back onto the floor. You lean to look past him and scope out who has decided to attend. Hmm Present Mic, Mt. Lady, Hound Dog, Ryukyu,... Aizawa.., annnnd hello Hawks.

You walk over to the couch where most people have congregated, avoiding even looking in the direction of Eraser Head, and sit on the arm. FatGum follows and sits at your feet like a big puppy.

Hawks is the first to speak up, “so Fat, tell me about your ~special~ friend.” He speaks with a playful gaze pointing in your direction.

FatGum taps your knee with his huge hand and with a blush he awkwardly speaks, “this is y/n. They are an upcoming hero and um.. super cool so I thought they should come.” Everyone in the room stares at the two of you and you’ve never seen Taishiro look so embarrassed. “They’re quirk i-is getting lucky.”

Hawks smirks with an almost devilish look, “getting lucky huh? I’d love to see it first hand.” You blush as everyone but Aizawa let’s out a laugh.

Mt. Lady comes and sits beside you with a wink, “y/n, looks like you’re gonna have fun tonight.” Despite the burning feeling of Aizawa glaring at you, you chuckle.

Present mic stands up dramatically and sets an empty bottle on the table “Aaaare yooou ready?!” Everyone notices your puzzled face, but only Mt. Lady helps to fill you in as many people refill their drinks, “You see, we planned to play a round of spin the bottle mixed with 7 minutes in heaven. I suggested we call it Seven minutes of spin the bottle, but Hounddog said that was stupid. “

Surprised, you look over at FatGum, who even sitting is still level with you on the couch. He appears to be intensely focused on the blank wall across the room, avoiding your gaze.

Well, this couldn’t be anymore perfect, everyone in this room is smoking hot, and it’s almost as if your quirk was made to help you suck face with hotties. You decide then and there that although Hawks is what you’re going to go for, any one but Eraser Head will be more than fine. The last thing you want is to be forced into a closet with Aizawa, he would probably just look at you with that pissed off expression and make you feel bad about yourself.

People begin taking their seats and Present Mic speaks up to you, “ I heard you pissed off Eraser! Congrats! We have all done it. At this point it’s a right of passage.”

Everyone but the ice king himself look over at you with a look of ‘tell us more’. You chuckle and take a sip of FatGums drink.

Aizawa’s voice cuts through the suspense and his pissed off expression tells it all, “y/n here argued with me about how the school is essentially using child labor. They insisted to my students that young hero’s shouldn’t be expected to sacrifice their lives for others and that young hero training culture is toxic.”

Man time to really focus on this drink.

Hawks almost looks.. impressed? Happy? Everyone else in the room just lets out an awkward chuckle at the horrible turn that the conversation had taken.

“Let’s Driiink and play.” Mic THANK GOSH breaks the silence. “Don’t forget everyone quirks allowed!”

You hear Mt. Lady mumble a complaint about how most people’s quirks couldn’t help at all here, especially hers.

“New hero first!” Hound declares, and hands the empty wine bottle to you.

You smile and set the bottle on the table, this night is going to be GREAT. Anyone but eraser head, there is no way that your luck could fail. After all, it was your power.

What you didn’t account for was Aizawa using his erasing quirk on you.

You watch in horror as the bottle slows to a stop, pointing at none other than the one person you wanted to avoid.

The room is silent. Aizawa simply stares at you, expression challenging and unchanging. Hawks let’s out a small cough and FatGum takes a sip from his drink.

Mt. Lady decides to go with it and ushers you two into the closet. “Seven minutes!! Good luck!!” You hear her mumble one last thing as you get shoved in, “God rest your soul y/n”

The door shuts behind you and you stand in the dark closet with him, wishing for someone to take care of your cat after you are gone.

“So.....” you try to talk your way out, “we can just not do this.”

You feel him grab your arm roughly with one hand, the other grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him. His voice rumbles lowly, “Are you going to apologize willingly or am I going to make you.”

Your face flushes and your breath catches. You struggle against him a little and feel his grip on you tighten. Through gritted teeth you respond to his enticing challenge, “make me.”

Roughly Aizawa slams you against the side of the closet, his lips meeting yours in a crash. Quickly his tongue finds its way into your mouth as his hand travels from your chin to your throat. You feel the grip against your throat tighten as he deepens the kiss, slipping the other hand to your back.

He pulls back from the kiss, leaving a string of spit connecting the two of you. “Don’t challenge me y/n, you will lose.” You try to catch your breath from the kiss but with your heart pounding so hard, you can’t form words.

Using the thumb of the hand gripping your neck, he forces you to look up at his face. You feel his fingers lightly graze your spine, and a shiver runs down your back. His hand grips your butt and he pushes his body against you, further forcing you against the wall.

“Open your mouth.” Aizawa orders. You part your lips as you look into his eyes. He looms his mouth over yours. Locking eyes with you, he spits into your mouth. Using his hand, he shuts your mouth and grabs your chin again.

“Good girl, now swallow it.” Utterly surprised, you follow his orders, a dumbfounded look on your face. Aizawa tilts your head up, his lips meeting your neck. The hand on your butt slides down to your thigh, roughly forcing it up and onto his hip.

He presses his entire weight against you and a moan nearly escapes your lips. His teeth bite onto a sensitive part of your neck, causing you to squirm against him, further turning you on. You shutter as he sucks on the place he bit, making a dark hickey appear on your neck along with a near perfect imprint of his teeth.

“Apologize before I do that to your nipple” Aizawa almost growls against your neck. You try to moan out an apology, but you watch as his head quickly moves down to your chest before you can answer. His grip on your neck forcing you to stand straight.

With horny panic you put your hands into his hair, gripping his black locks tightly and pulling his head back.

You gasp and sputter, “I I am s-sorry.”

You look down at him as a devilish look crosses his face, “I don’t think I heard you properly.” He opens his mouth and pulls his head forward toward your chest.

“I-I” your words get cut off by your moan as he bites down on your sensitive nipple. You scream out in a mix of pleasure and pain, apologies pouring out of your mouth between gasps.

Mt. Lady coughs awkwardly, standing in the doorway. “Um guys time is up.”

Aizawa let’s out a huff, obviously not wanting to stop the fun so soon. He steps back from you and you nearly collapse on your weak knees. You watch as he walks out of the closet.

Embarrassed you look over at Mt. Lady and she smiles at you. “Don’t worry I doubt anyone heard you getting it on.” You take a small breath of relief. “But that hickey is .Hard. To miss.

[agapaic]

[19 days] sin city

this drabble is a gift to one of my dearest and biggest supporters, @geoviki​, who requested a bonus ‘second kiss’ continuation scene between he tian and guan shan in the ‘sweet tooth’ universe (a crazy rich asians-inspired fic), and i sincerely hope you enjoy it, viki! all my love, xxx

Guan Shan hasn’t set foot in God’s house since he was a kid. His mother goes every weekend when she doesn’t have a double shift, but he can’t bring himself to go with her. Too busy, too cynical. He knows he can’t struggle with his faith when he’s lost it; he doesn’t know if he ever found it. He knows without a doubt that he sins.

As it is, he isn’t burnt in the service, isn’t poisoned by the communion. He thinks that if anyone were to be dealt retribution then he wouldn’t be first in line. Singapore’s elite have bigger, dustier skeletons in their closets than Guan Shan, half-disintegrated with age.

He tells himself this through the readings and prayers and hymns he’s forgotten the words to, glances routinely through the stained-glass windows for a glimpse of an outside reality he can’t see. He can hear it: the rush of mid-morning traffic beyond the grassy verges of the church, neatly protected from the central business district by iron fencing and a half-acre of flower beds and rain trees.

Beneath the lip of the pew, where copies of the testaments, old and new, have been neatly placed and the firm, embroidered hassocks hang off metal hooks, He Tian squeezes Guan Shan’s hand.

‘Nearly done,’ he murmurs, while Father Joshua delivers his sermon on godliness in children and parental obedience.

Guan Shan's gaze slides to his. It’s one of the only things He Tian’s said the whole service.

‘You believe all this?’ he asks, whispering.

‘They do,’ He Tian replies, his lips barely moving.

Fans move lazily above them from the high steepled ceiling, their chains rattling over the din of the priest’s solemn tone. They don’t offer much: the inside of the church is still sticky with heat, and members of the congregation attempt to cool themselves with the service pamphlets or paperback copies of the Bible with broken spines and annotations in the margins.

From the seat in front of them, Guan Shan watches a bead of sweat slide down a woman’s neck, dampness collecting at the high laced collar of her Chanel dress. She has her own bamboo fan, painted with pretty avian sketches.

Guan Shan pulls his gaze away. ��Which godly child are you?’ he asks He Tian quietly. ‘Absolom or Samuel?’

He Tian tries to hide a grin. ‘Destroyer of kingdoms or a monk?’ he questions, angling his head as if looking behind him. His breath is cool at Guan Shan’s ear. Guan Shan lets him lean close, breathing in sandalwood and khus oil. ‘Are those my only choices?’

Guan Shan sets his eyes forward. ‘Nothin’ else seems to be acceptable.’

‘Yes—they’re a stern lot.’

‘They should put their money where their mouth is.’

He Tian snorts quietly. He releases Guan Shan’s hand, and Guan Shan says nothing when his hand moves instead to rest innocently atop Guan Shan’s thigh.

‘He Tian…’ he starts to warn.

He Tian keeps his expression plain. ‘I told you if you came I’d make it worth your while.’

‘That’s not—’ Guan Shan bats his hand away. The gesture elicits a harsh smacking sound, and a few heads turn. Guan Shan presses his lips into a hard line. When eventually their attention shifts away again, Guan Shan hisses, ‘I’m not doin’ that.’

‘I thought you didn’t care much for His wrath,’ He Tian says, pointing discreetly upwards.

‘That’s got nothin’ to do with…’ Guan Shan breaks off. He Tian’s eyes are glittering. He’s joking with him. Guan Shan clenches his jaw. Murmuring, he says: ‘You shouldn’t mess with people like that.’

‘But you make it so much fun,’ He Tian whispers.

Guan Shan glares at him. He endures the rest of the sermon in stoic silence. Absolom, he thinks. He Tian, the destroyer of kingdoms—and young men’s hearts.

///

They linger outside after the sermon. The air is thick and charged with the aftermath of a morning thunderstorm, the ground wet with rain and the smell of petrichor. Guan Shan breathes in deeply, stepping back while He Tian greets strangers and allows middle-aged women to offer both cheeks for him to kiss, their husbands noticeably absent. They run their eyes over Guan Shan and the suit he’s going to make He Tian return by the end of the day, and He Tian politely evades their desire for introductions.

He knows everyone, Guan Shan realises, but it doesn’t surprise him. He’s seen the He family work a crowd at a party or a charity function. The lingering congregation of a Sunday mass is only another opportunity to schmooze and gossip.

‘Just another five minutes,’ He Tian murmurs at Guan Shan’s ear. ‘My father will have my hide if I don’t show my face for a decent length of time.’

‘How long’s that? By his standards?’

‘He’d have me go to brunch with someone’s mother and their daughter if he had his way.’

Guan Shan fingernails bite into his palms. The thought of He Tian being palmed off to some socialite’s offspring makes him bitter with jealousy. He’s seen He Tian only a few times since the charity function at the She estate, communicated with him mostly in veiled text messages and late night calls.

It’s been weeks since they’d shared the feeling of each other’s lips in a quiet room at the She mansion, weeks since they’d shared kueh with their legs dangling over the edge of a jetty across from Sentosa island. Most nights, Guan Shan still tastes both on his lips.

He’s got little stake to claim over the young heir of the He fortune, but he can’t help himself. He goes where He Tian asks him to, wears the suits He Tian buys him. Fuck, he’s started smoking his brand of cigarettes, too. And if He Tian wants to take him to church one Sunday morning so he has better company than a band of middle-aged women wanting him for themselves more than their daughters… Who is Guan Shan to say no after the first three times?

‘What are you thinking?’

Guan Shan blinks. Another church-goer has come and gone, and they’re alone. He Tian is watching him closely.

‘I want a cigarette,’ Guan Shan says. Technically, it’s not a lie.

He Tian snorts. ‘In the courtyard of our Lady of the Veil? Blasphemy, Mo Guan Shan.’

Guan Shan shrugs. He remembers their exchange at the threshold of the church, where two children no more than ten stood with a coin bowl held out, covered in pool-table green cloth and more cash than Guan Shan earns from a month’s tips.

‘I’m not a Catholic,’ he’d told He Tian, feeling strangely compelled to tell him with an even stranger degree of anxiety about the fact, as if it were a make-or-break moment for something they had that could neither be made nor broken.

He Tian had snorted then, too. ‘Don’t worry,’ he’d said, stepping through the doors, palming the children a few bills to line their pockets. ‘Neither am I.’

Now, Guan Shan watches as He Tian reaches into the lining of his suit jacket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes from the pocket. It’s too warm to stand outside in their Sunday best for long, and He Tian tugs Guan Shan over beneath the shade of an Indian-almond tree, its boughs offering some cool relief to a small section of the church courtyard.

Guan Shan watches He Tian light a cigarette between his lips, the flame close to his fingers. It catches; there’s a cherry red glow. Smoke blooms between them, and then He Tian plucks the cigarette from his lips and holds it out as if it’s a newly picked flower.

‘Here,’ he says. A moment passes, where Guan Shan doesn’t take it. ‘I thought you wanted it.’

‘I do, I just—’ Guan Shan can feel his cheeks starting to redden. He swallows. His throat has gone dry. He can hear the voices of men and women standing before the church. He knows some of them are watching, wondering, eager to know who his family is and where he’s come from and how he has captured He Tian’s attention with such painful, singular attentiveness.

‘You’re not—’ He Tian breaks off with a laugh. ‘You’re not worried that I’ve touched it, are you?’

Guan Shan looks away, and He Tian’s eyes widen.

‘Oh,’ he says. His smile grows wider. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he croons. ‘I didn’t know you were such a puritan. How proud He’d be.’

‘Shut up,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s stance shifts, intrigued. ‘If I’d known it took an indirect kiss to make you blush, Man Upstairs be damned, I’d have put my mouth elsewhere a long time ago.’

‘Shut up.’

He Tian’s laughter is deep as he takes a drag of his cigarette. Some of the women are frowning at him. The hot breeze carries the smoke in their direction, and they waft it away with their fans and paper service pamphlets, rouged mouths pursing tightly. He smiles at them, all affable apologies, and they can’t begrudge him long.

‘They want you to fuck them,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s eyes flick to his, and his smile grows indulgent. ‘I know,’ he says.

‘You’re not gonna do anythin’ about it?’

‘Like what?’

Guan Shan grits his teeth. ‘Like—tell them to fuck off?’

He Tian snorts. ‘They’re old friends of the family. And you forget they haven’t made me an offer, sweetheart.’

‘And if they did?’

He Tian considers him carefully. His playfulness begins to fade. ‘You’re jealous,’ he says. ‘Of them?’

‘They’d divorce their investment husbands if they knew they had a chance with you.’

He Tian taps cigarette ash to the ground. He looks away, squinting at the skyline, considering something, before taking a step forward.

‘Firstly,’ says He Tian, his voice low, ‘if they had a chance with me they’d know it. Secondly, there’d be no divorce or marriage to a man twenty years their junior because their reputations wouldn’t survive the scandal. And thirdly: what the fuck would I want with them when I have the prospect of a whole indirect kiss with you?’

Guan Shan glares at him. ‘Gimme that,’ he says, snatching the cigarette from He Tian’s fingers before putting it to his lips. He nearly chokes on the inhale, eyes watering, and smoke seeps from the corners of his mouth before he can control it the way he wants it to. There’s nothing attractive about it, but he catches He Tian watching him with an indulgent smile.

‘It’s been five minutes,’ He Tian says, taking a glance at his watch. ‘We can go now. I promised to buy you brunch. You’re still happy with Orchard Road?’

‘I’m not finished,’ Guan Shan says.

He Tian’s brows lift. ‘You can’t smoke and walk?’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

He Tian tilts his head. ‘Oh?’

‘I meant—it’s not really fair, is it? It’s always—always you kissin’ me, and shit.’

‘Always?’

‘Yeah, with the—distractin’ the guards at She Li’s house and with—’ He makes a vague gesture. ‘—the cigarette and—’

‘Guan Shan—’

‘—it’s only fair that I get to prove my own fuckin’ point too—’

‘Mo Guan Shan—’

‘So will you just shut up and let me kiss you?’

He Tian stares at him.

Then he swallows.

‘If you really want to,’ he starts, ‘I suppose I’m in no position to—mmphh!’

It isn’t tender or soft, and Guan Shan is vaguely aware of the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers. He lets it fall, hopes he’s ground it out beneath his foot properly and remembers to pick it up after or risk a fine, but first: this. His fingers tightly locked in the dark strands of He Tian’s hair; He Tian’s lips bruising against his own, the sharp gasps of the women loitering by the church doors.

It’s exactly as he remembers from last time. A crushing pressure, the sense of being caught unawares. No finesse. Guan Shan knows it could be slower, that they could take their time, a pilgrimage of vulnerability and one body learning another, but something possessive in him has taken over—this is a crusade.

He Tian’s answering kiss twists into a grin against Guan Shan’s mouth. Guan Shan swallows He Tian’s amusement down, finds the feel of He Tian’s smile against his lips unfairly alluring. He does his best to try and rid He Tian of it, crowding close until He Tian’s back hits the trunk of the almond tree and He Tian is groaning beneath the pressure of his lips. He tastes the acrid smoke of their shared cigarette and He Tian’s breath mints, feels the humid beat of the mid-morning sun—and He Tian’s hand pressing gently at his chest.

He pulls away, staggering and breathing hard. With satisfaction, he notes that He Tian is, too.

‘I think we’re even now,’ says He Tian, a slight rasp to his voice. His eyes are bright and he runs his thumbnail over his lower lip, which has gone swollen and red. ‘You’ve suitably convinced your audience.’

Guan Shan looks away. ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’

‘Oh?’ He Tian asks, amused. ‘That wasn’t you staking your claim?’

Guan Shan hesitates. Part of him can’t bear to look behind him. ‘Are you gonna be excommunicated?’

He Tian chuckles. ‘I’m sure I can find my way back in. Father Joshua is particularly fond of He Cheng’s hideously curvaceous Bugatti.’

‘Guess that’s somethin’,’ Guan Shan mutters.

In answer, He Tian sweeps a hand through the loose strands of Guan Shan’s red hair that have slipped down across his forehead. The touch is fond and familiar and makes Guan Shan swallow hard.

‘You know,’ says He Tian. ‘You can do that any time you want. Not just to prove a point.’

‘You haven’t,’ says Guan Shan, an accusation.

‘I didn’t want to scare you off. I realise last time I was a bit—’

‘Forceful?’

‘Abrupt,’ He Tian corrects delicately. ‘But still—I don’t want you to think you’re any less mine.’

Guan Shan looks at him. ‘Thought you couldn’t have anythin’ you wanted.’

‘Ah…’ He Tian drops his hand, leans back on the heels of his Louis Vitto’s. Almost boyishly, he says, ‘I thought it was a done deal. You and me.’

Guan Shan neither confirms or denies. Instead he asks, ‘Who’d you trade with to get that impression?’

He Tian nods his head upwards. ‘Did it work? I sold my soul for it. ’

‘And they still let you in?’

He Tian’s look is sinful. ‘They let the worst of us through.’

Guan Shan rolls his eyes. He wets his lips. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘I think you’re on a decent road to redemption.’

‘Is that your way of saying it was a worthwhile bargain?’ Tell me it worked.

‘Is that your way of askin’ if I’m yours?’ Guan Shan asks. All these riddles and metaphors—sometimes he has to bring them back to the ground, make sure they’re on the same page.

‘I—Yes.’

Guan Shan nods, then jerks his chin in a challenge. ‘Make me believe it and I might be.’

He Tian’s eyes flicker towards the church just for a moment, but then he smirks, reaffirming their closeness with one step. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he murmurs, angling his head down, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 3 ♫ “Moment of Truth” [ 3.08 ]

CREATED BY Esther (waterstribe) & Maggie (quincywillows) || Official Page || AO3

SHOWDOWN – Adams and Haverford go head-to-head at the senior showdown finals. The A class scrambles when their polished routine is thrown into jeopardy, and Riley takes control. Charlie makes difficult decisions, culminating in a major confession.

72 Minutes (34.5K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← Can You Dig It? ] [ S3 Synopsis ] [ Nature of the Beast → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

We launch into the episode, the midseason finale, with focus on Riley’s inspiration board. It not only has the same old stuff from the last couple of seasons but now is updated with new mementos and charming keepsakes -- photos of her and friends (at least one for each bestie), a program from semis and West Side Story, a snapshot of Susan Egan as Belle on Broadway, brochures for NYU and Barnard, plenty of photos of Lucas.

Then we drift down, finding RILEY MATTHEWS settled in the bay window seat beneath it. She’s got her laptop on her lap, hair braided over both shoulders, and gaze focused as she takes a deep breath and then definitively hits her mousepad.

On the laptop screen, the webpage changes, showing a confirmation page on the college common application. Congratulations! Your application has been submitted. When she clicks back to the home page, we see it’s not the only one -- she’s got half a dozen applications officially done and squared away. The only one left hanging is NYU, shooting for the Tisch performing arts program still an uncertain shot.

But otherwise, she’s done. She lets out a pronounced exhale, lifting her head to look at the camera. Not only is her relief palpable, there’s something else shining in her eyes -- excitement. Yes, it’s daunting, but now the future is out there waiting for her.

Optimistic opening tones kick in, setting us truly into motion as Riley pushes her laptop off her lap and jumps to her feet.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Love It Or Leave It” as performed by Tess Henley || Performed by Riley Matthews

Riley’s vocals are easy and carefree as she steps into the performance, dancing around her bedroom in victory for finally being free of applications. She spins and stops in front of her whiteboard, crossing the task off her list with a flourish. When she steps away and out of frame, the writing left behind reminds us just what’s at stake this week.

SENIOR SHOWDOWN FINALS!!

It’s all come down to this moment, and all things considered, Riley seems in good spirits. She continues her energetic singing and grabs her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder as she climbs out the bay window…

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

And onto the streets of her city, taking her sunshine optimism on the road. She continues through the first chorus as she dances along the walk to school, interspersing her commute with skips, slides, and even a few ballet movements and twirls. She deftly avoids other passersby and sends smiles around selflessly, not letting anything tamper her bright mood.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Not everyone is in quite the same high spirit, however. FARKLE MINKUS finishes submitting his last application, to University of Southern California in Los Angeles. He hovers for a moment before hitting submit, then goes back to his email inbox, where an unread email from his therapist is waiting for him. Just from the preview of the email, we can tell that she’s reaching out to check in with him after what happened last week when he suddenly left their appointment.

Any new diagnosis can be scary, but…

Farkle can’t look at it right now. He closes his laptop, taking a deep, centering breath and trying to get back in the zone. This is the week where he has to have it together. This is not the week to be less than perfect.

Looking for a boost of confidence, he reaches into his closet and pulls out his infamous blazer. If there were ever a moment to channel the old him, now would be the time. He pulls his arms through the sleeves, adjusting it on his shoulders and absorbing its energy.

Then he heads out, holding his chin high.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - DAY

ZAY BABINEAUX could probably use some of that confidence too. He’s also looking at his applications. Only one remains unsent -- his one for Turner Academy. As much as he’s dying to go there, with how everything has changed, he can’t bring himself to hit submit.

And this morning won’t be when he does. He runs from it yet again, shutting his laptop.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - DAY

CHARLIE GARDNER, on the other hand, has had no trouble submitting his applications. He’s just wrapping up sending in the last one, this one to the prestigious Princeton University. When you look at his full list of submitted apps, they’re all names like that -- Harvard, Yale, Brown, Columbia. Only a couple of others vary in focus, a couple of dance programs peppered in for flavor.

And yet, he seems nonplussed about all of them. In fact, he doesn’t seem to feel much of anything, detached from his college prospects. Like they don’t even belong to him -- and certainly not indicative of anything he wants. Hard to be, when he doesn’t even know what that is for himself.

He clicks back to the home page, glimpsing over his application one more time. One question on the common application seems to be glaring at him.

Tell us who you are.

Charlie glares back. It’s a wonder when the time will come to truly answer it…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Riley takes back control of the narrative, diving into the chorus again with a spring in her step. Some of her other peers feed off her positive energy, like YINDRA AMINO and JEFF MONROE, who dance around her as she passes them in the hall.

She makes her way to the dressing room hall and pushes through the doors…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And spins her way into the wings of the auditorium, back in top-tier shape after the debacles last episode. But the true heft of the lyrics don’t land until she sets her sights on something across the stage, that excited glimmer even brighter in her eyes.

LUCAS JAMES FRIAR. Clear to her through the clutter of her other classmates congregating on the stage, as if he’s spotlighted in her eyes. He’s working on discussing something for showdown with ASHER GARCIA and JADE BEAMON, but after a moment he lifts his gaze and locks eyes with her. Naturally, a small smile ghosts over his lips.

Riley bounces back into the rhythm, pulled in his direction like gravity.

Forgive me but I know what, I know what I want!

She weaves her way through others, skillfully dancing her way through the obstacles, only stumbling when she finally makes it to the other side of the stage. She basically collapses into Lucas, who catches her and steadies her upright, keeping her on her feet. Support and pseudo-choreography all at once.

Riley looks over her shoulder to grin at him, then spins so she’s facing him.

Sometimes I get the feeling I just can’t help myself…

She pulls him towards her and back out of the wings, actually managing to drag him along in half a dance for a good chunk of the remaining chorus. It’s no mystery where at least half of her good mood comes from, with the way she’s unable to stop smiling as she sings to him and twirls under his arm.

When she twirls away he lets her go, allowing her to traverse the stage freely for the rest of the number. As she’s finishing her cheerful solo, the rest of the A class makes their way onto the stage around her, all in rehearsal clothes.

Riley finally comes to a stop as the music peters out, finding her place in the dance lines and standing ready to move. The camera rotates around her, showing off the rest of the seniors also ready to roll, then panning to Lucas, Jeff, and Zay standing at the front of the stage with ERIC MATTHEWS, HARPER BURGESS, and MAYA HART.

And it’s Maya who takes over from there. She steps forward, clapping her hands together, and shatters the hopeful vibe with ease.

Maya: Alright, countrymen, get ready to have your ass kicked for the next five days. Showdown is Saturday, and I will be damned and cast to Hell if Haverford Shlep beats us for the seventh bloody year in a row. This is not amateur hour. And with God as my witness -- if you’re into that sort of thing -- we are going full fire and burning this showdown to the ground. [ lifting her bullhorn ] On your marks! And five, six, seven --

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

We’re in the darkness of the wings, though we can still see most of the class doing run-throughs of their setlist and hear Maya clapping and shouting commands in the background. We’re looking through the lens of NICK YOGI’s camera, who has it facing towards himself. He speaks in a whisper, trying not to get targeted by Maya.

Yogi: So, AAA thotties, here’s where we’re at. After a wild semester, senior showdown is finally upon us, and the A class has been in better straits. A shit ton has happened to get us where we are now, so before I continue on with capturing all the magic and whimsy of showdown preparations --

Maya, off-screen: Is that what you call a kick-ball-change, Chey? When we lose on Saturday, I’m blaming it all on your kick-ball-change. Let’s go again!

Yogi: Dave and I thought it might be smart to quickly recap how exactly we ended up in this mess.

INT. AAA - A/V CLUB STUDIO - DAY

Obviously filmed as an earlier segment, the camera now focuses on DAVE WILLIAMS casually seated at the news desk across from wherever Yogi is set up. The footage is far from polished, shot more like a documentary, and it’s not clear whether Dave realizes they’re filming or if he thinks they’re just shooting the shit. He’s not looking at the camera, eyes directed at his best friend off-screen.

Dave: It’s so crazy, man. Like, I feel like it all started when Charlie left Triple A.

Yogi: Oh?

Dave: Yeah, dude. ‘Cause like, who even cared about Haverford before that, you know? Like, they sucked or whatever, but no one really gave a shit. We knew we’d have to face them with showdown, but the moment Charlie jumped ship it’s like it got all personal. Like he defected to the dark side, and so suddenly we had to know the dark side. You know, like that blonde bitch from Camp Rock and Camp Star which didn’t even exist until they needed a rival and suddenly it had all these important characters in it.

Yogi, trying not to laugh: For sure.

Dave: And the thing is like -- I don’t know if we really told him enough when he was like, actually here, but -- Charlie is good. He was one of our best performers, or at least most reliable, and between him and Zay it’s like we had a monopoly on dance. Hotels on that shit. Showdown felt pretty assured, because when you’ve got dudes who can dance like that, I mean, what was anyone even gonna do to top it? But then Charlie transfers, that juice gets drained by half, and the rest of the dominoes fall.

Yogi: Uh huh. Go on.

Dave: And TBH, I feel like that was part of another thing too -- what happened to Zay. Because everyone knows he went like mega-diva earlier this year, and he didn’t used to be like that. I don’t know if anyone else noticed, but I feel like he and Charlie were close? Best friends, really, which makes sense, since they’re like bonded by dance and stuff. And so when Charlie left I feel like that just totally… like knocked him flat, and made him go all haywire, and all that is what led to him going nuts and never taking a break and fucking up his leg.

Yogi: That’s an interesting take. The way you connect the dots amazes me.

Dave, earnest: But like, look dude, I totally get it. It’s like, I think about if you left Triple A all the sudden and just left me behind. I’d be bummed as fuck. Like I wouldn’t even wanna be at this stupid school anymore. I think Zay is way tougher than I’ll ever be.

Yogi: Wow… that was so sweet. [ sniffling theatrically ] I just need a moment --

The tape cuts quickly, still at the same angle, but indicating a lapse in filming.

Yogi: Would you really wanna not stay at Triple A?

Dave: Why would I, if you’re not here to make it fun?

Yogi: What about Lucas?

Dave: Oh yeah… okay, I’d probably stay. But it wouldn’t be the same.

Yogi, amused: That makes more sense.

The tape cuts again, this time Dave having changed positions. He’s sitting slouched in the chair with one of his entire legs propped up on the table in front of him -- i.e., like a weirdo boy who can’t sit normally.

Yogi: So Zay gets fucked up.

Dave: Zay gets hurt, and that’s a major blow. I mean, there’s where we’re at right now, trying to figure out some bizarro way to replace him. But he was a huge part of the original routine, so now we’re like trying to put a band-aid over a bazooka hole. Then all the money stuff added on top of that which totally distracted us for way more time than we can spare. Not being able to be in the auditorium wasn’t good either.

Yogi: Nope.

Dave: Then with Dora’s mom dying, that like knocked her out of the ring. Which is bad, because Dora is like our tiny, terrifying WWE fighter. A little secret weapon. But like, RIP Valerie and all that.

Yogi: Rest easy, queen.

Dave: But we need the win. Lucas needs it to give scholarships to all the destitute future AAA thotties, and I really feel like if we lose, Maya is going to go full Carrie. But with everyone all wigged over college apps and stuff, and the legacy of six years of Ls hanging over us… it’s not looking good, chief. I wouldn’t say that out there for risk of getting shanked by Maya’s stiletto, but a good reporter tells the truth.

Yogi: Right you are. So if you could say one thing to us for later, win or lose, what say you, Dave?

Dave: Well, I’d say “good luck, Charlie,” but as I just said, Charlie is gone. And he’s with the enemy, so I can’t give him any luck.

Yogi: No. How about “good luck, Davie?”

Dave: [ looking miserably at the camera, which zooms in ] Good luck, Davie.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Back in the present, Yogi whispers a thanks to his best correspondent, Dave Williams, before throwing attention back to rehearsal.

Yogi: Time to see if we can salvage this L.

For a while, we stay with the camera perspective, Yogi stepping through the rows of his classmates to capture footage. Most of them toss him dirty looks or nearly bump into him, and SARAH CARLSON gives him an especially unimpressed glare when he gets up close to her.

Sarah: Aren’t you supposed to be rehearsing?

Haley, off-screen: Can we not have cameras rolling while we’re trying not to crash and burn this week?

Nate, off-screen: Oh, no, Yogi. Run. Yogi, run --

Yogi whips around, coming lens-to-face with a very haughty Maya. She narrows her eyes.

Yogi: Oh, Neptune…

The camera cuts to black.

Back in our usual frame, Maya snaps the camera shut, pointing for him to get back to his place in formation. He snatches his device back, holding his head high as he marches back to his spot.

Yogi: Just trying to preserve the memories. You all will thank me someday when you want to relive these moments.

Zay: I don’t want to live them now.

Maya snaps for them to run it again, moving back to the front of the stage. She claps them in, running the “Rain On Me” choreography beat-by-beat without vocals. Although the moves are still sharp, it just doesn’t feel as coherent without Zay, since the number was built with him in mind. And something just feels… off. Stale. Like we’ve seen it all before.

And distracted minds don’t help. Even with his blazer, Farkle can’t just magically return to top form, so he’s a couple steps behind. His uneasiness creates a ripple effect, those around him adjusting to avoid his missteps and just making ones of their own, until the whole ensemble is out of sync and lost. Maya growls, ceasing her clapping and holding her hands out to stop.

Maya: Come on, people! This whole thing is falling apart before my very eyes. Do not lose your heads now!

Lucas: Maybe it would help to not have a manic pixie nightmare girl screeching at them.

Maya: [ holding up a finger, not looking at him ] Didn’t ask you. Again, from the top! Five, six --

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - DAY

BRANDON RIVAS is in the same role as Maya, clapping them through the choreography of “Seize the Day.”

Brandon: Seven, eight!

Unfortunately (for Adams), the boys are in much better shape. Their synchronization and energy are as sharp as ever, and they’re even back in full dress to work with the costumes. The only thing putting a dent in their perfect rendition is the fact that it seems they’ve introduced some new choreography here and there, Brandon correcting one or two peers while they perform.

Charlie is keeping up easily, but he admittedly seems put off by the changed details. His brow is furrowed as they run through the last pieces of the sequence, eyeing his classmates as they work to adjust their understanding of the number.

When they finish they hold their pose until Brandon signals for them to be at ease, launching into notes. He reminds them that they should put their vocal focus this week behind the new harmonies they’re learning for the middle piece in their setlist -- they’ve swapped it out for something different for finals.

Charlie fidgets until he works up the nerve to raise his hand, waiting for Brandon to acknowledge him. He does, raising his eyebrows at him, and Charlie clears his throat.

Charlie: Is there a reason we’re changing so much stuff? I thought the original choreo for the dance break in Newsies was fine. The judges liked it during semis.

Billy: Duh, of course you like it, Gardner. It’s your choreography.

The comment is said playfully, but there’s just the slightest of edges to it that BILLY ROSS doesn’t conceal. A few of the other Havies chuckle at this, but Charlie persists, trying not to let himself be deterred.

Charlie: And a whole new song for the middle? What was wrong with “Would You Mind?”

Dweezil: Does something have to be wrong to be improved?

Charlie: No, I’m only wondering --

Brandon: It’s fine, Charles. I get it. [ to the group ] Charles wants to know why we’re putting the effort into changing things around when the routines we’ve established have worked for us so far. Is that right?

Charlie pauses, then nods. Close enough. Brandon returns the nod, keeping cool as he paces in front of the boys.

Brandon: I don’t fault you for that. It’s a natural instinct. Stick to what you know, what you know works. Safer that way. [ a beat ] But safe doesn’t win showdown. We need to stay alert, fresh, open to the possibilities. We’ve been doing it for six years, and I believe we’re going to score a seventh. That means being flexible, assessing opportunities for growth and stretching to reach them.

Nice speech, one that Brandon delivers seamlessly. Charlie accepts it, but something about it is still itching at him. Maybe he really is just intrinsically averse to pushing the envelope…

Brandon: As for why we cut the pop middle, strategic maneuver. I just thought something more… classic might better highlight our strengths. Show the ways we stand out against the competition. That’s all. So, if question time has concluded, let’s get in places for “Brotherhood.”

The Havies move swiftly, shifting positions. Charlie follows suit, taking his place behind Brandon, but his expression is still contemplative as they count into the showstopper.

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Maya finds ISADORA DE LA CRUZ in the dressing room, marching up to her at the mirrors and cutting right to the point.

Maya: Okay, we are in meltdown mode out there, so the time has come. Izzy, you need to square up and join rank. It’s time to get back out there.

For what it’s worth, Isadora doesn’t seem surprised. She’s known this was coming for a while now, Maya’s ability to leave her be cracking every day.

Isadora: It’s not that I haven’t thought about it.

Maya: Perfect. There you go then. It’s a sign. So get your jazz shoes on and let’s go.

Isadora: But I’m not at the same level as you all. Maybe I was getting there with the singing last year, but I’m way out of practice now, and I was never there with my dancing. We’re trying to win, and I’ll be lucky if I can get on stage without passing out.

Maya: Please, if Garcia can do it when he’s prone to collapse like an anemic Weeble Wobble, you’ll be fine.

Isadora: But we don’t know that. There’s no guarantee. Even if I want to help, is it really worth risking me fucking it all up? Just for a little extra oomph from someone who is average at best?

Maya snaps, shaking her head and gripping Isadora’s shoulders. Isadora flinches slightly, but she’s used to Maya at this point, so she can get away with the aggressive touch in a time of great consequence. Maya insists that Isadora is way too in her own head -- she was fantastic before, and she will be fantastic now. Talent doesn’t just disappear.

Maya: You have royal blood running through those veins of yours. Bona fide, liquified star power, the real deal. I know it hurts that your mom isn’t here to foster that -- believe me, I know how it feels -- but you’re still here. You are her legacy, and this is your birthright. So it’s time to claim it!

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Born For This” as performed by Paramore || Performed by Maya Hart & Isadora De La Cruz

Maya launches into the rambunctious early Paramore hit, appealing to Isadora in a language both of them know -- angry, empowering, female-led punk rock. It’s the artist that first bonded them, after all, so it’s the best she can offer in a last pitch to get her to come around. As she sings through the first verse she climbs up onto the countertop, strutting along it and hitting strong poses, before leaping back down in front of Isadora.

As she hits the pre-chorus, she leans in close to Isadora, challenging her with her body language to fight back or take the risk to meet her at her level. Then she takes her hand, leading her out of the dressing room --

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

And into the halls for the chorus, Maya jumping and head-banging as she goes. Isadora jogs to keep up, taking over on the second verse as other AAA students begin to join in as the echo. Maya leads them, matching her movements in response to Isadora’s sing-shouting. Then they all create a rocking crowd formation for the chorus again, similar to when the techies took the halls with “Thnks Fr Th Mmrs,” sharply bouncing and dancing their way to the intense music and following the lead of Isadora and Maya, standing side by side at the front of the pack.

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

Then the mob descends on the cafeteria, finding most of the remaining Adams students. Maya and Isadora take over the lunch room, rallying students at their tables and heightening the energy across the board.

Maya hops up onto a table and pulls Isadora with her, gathering the students around them. This is where they lead the “We! Were! Born For This!” chant, getting the others to echo their declarations. When they escalate up to the belt at the end of the bridge, they stand back to back, Maya leaning her head back theatrically and shouting the note to the ceiling.

Everybody sing!

The cafeteria has become a full-on rock concert, other students jumping onto the tables and getting into the spirit. Maya has a knack for turning lunch time into a spectacle, and this is no exception. The school rock-and-rolls their way to the end, where they all break into hollers and cheers. Maya turns to face Isadora again where they’re standing on the center table, quirking an eyebrow. Well?

Isadora catches her breath… then grins, clasping her hand with Maya’s. Officially on board.

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Back in the dressing room and now part of the team officially, Isadora seeks out CHAI FRESCO. She strikes up conversation as Chai is arranging their semis costumes on the rack, asking if she has a second. Since she’s now joining the performance, Isadora knows she needs to brush up on her dancing. And well, it’s a lot to learn in a short amount of time…

Isadora: Though it kills me to admit it, I know I’m going to need help. I was wondering if you would be willing to stay later with me each day and run through it until I get it down.

Chai: Really? You want me?

Isadora: Honestly, my first thought was Maya, but you’ve seen how she is lately. She is so stressed out over this, I know she won’t have time, and I think she might actually murder me for slow uptake. But her aside… you are the best dancer we have in the A class. Maya would also kill me for saying that.

Chai, touched: … well, thanks. Most people don’t really notice.

Isadora: Not everyone.

Yes, clearly not everyone… either way, Chai is flattered. She agrees to tutor Isadora, assuring her that no matter the choreo, they’ll get her up to snuff in no time. Nothing to freak out over.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Farkle’s blazer has been discarded on the floor, bold callback abandoned. Farkle has folded himself into a protective position on the countertop, avoiding the mirror next to him as he tries to calm down from what feels like an impending panic attack. His hands are shaking as he pulls his sweater over his head, down to just his plain tee but still feeling hot.

Riley pokes her head in, commenting that she finally found him. She’s been looking for him before they go do another run-through… then she notices his shaky state, immediately shifting from friendly to concerned. She rushes over to him, asking what’s going on and if he’s okay.

Farkle: I tried. I really tried, Riley, I tried to just work through it --

Riley: What? Work through what?

Farkle: But I can’t. I’m just -- I’m not myself. I don’t even know what myself is right now.

When she prods him once again, he cracks and spills everything about what happened with his therapist. About his new diagnosis, about being bipolar. He knows it doesn’t actually mean anything, or maybe it actually means clarity, but right now it just feels like too much. So much he doesn’t understand, like having to relearn a whole new identity. Riley does her best to keep up, frowning as Farkle grows flushed and chokes up.

Riley: It’s okay, Farkle. You’re not… I mean, millions of people are bipolar, and they get through it. They figure it out. You’ll figure it out, too, especially since you’ve got top-rate care and the best people to help.

Farkle: I know. [ huffing and wiping his eyes ] I know, it’s silly for me to be freaked. I know it doesn’t really change me, it’s just a label for what I already am. But it just feels like… I don’t know. [ voice cracking ] Like I’m even more to deal with than I was before.

Riley doesn’t know what to say -- she’s not a therapist -- so all she can do is offer comfort. She steps closer and wraps him in a hug, Farkle returning the embrace tightly. They just hold each other for a few moments.

Riley: Farkle, you have always been unique. Uniquely a challenge, but uniquely wonderful, too. Both are some of my favorite things about you. And more than that, you are damningly resilient. [ pulling back to look at him ] You will rise above this too. And it’s not like you have to do it alone, you know that we’re going to have your back every step of the journey.

Farkle: Yeah… yeah, you’re right. Thanks.

He leans forward for another quick hug, which she happily gives him. When they break apart again, Farkle releases a heavy exhale.

Farkle: But Riley, with all this going on… I don’t think I can do it. Showdown. I don’t want to drop out of the performance, but I can’t carry it the way I did for semis. I want to, and I know Maya is going to lose her shit if I don’t, but I just don’t think I can handle it right now.

He’s right about one thing -- Maya is going to flip. Right after she collects one advantage, another domino falls… but Riley understands. Of course she does. She pats his shoulder, giving him the bravest smile she can muster.

Riley: It’s fine. We’ll still have your star power in our ranks, and we’ll find a way to rearrange. You need to do what’s best for you.

Farkle: Yeah. Yeah, I hope.

Riley: Everything is going to be fine. Don’t worry.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Riley reports directly to Lucas and DYLAN ORLANDO, soothing smiles long gone.

Riley: It’s time to worry.

She relays to them that Farkle is stepping down without divulging the details, keeping it simple by explaining he’s not doing well at the moment. It’s lucky that they’ll still have him in the ensemble, but this is just another body blow that she’s not sure their team can take.

Riley: With Farkle off the table, our routine is basically on life support. That’s two out of three of the main vocalists on “4 Minutes” out, and “Rain On Me” isn’t doing so hot either. We can move Nigel up to take Farkle’s role -- which we should, he’s severely underutilized at present -- but even then we’re still lacking major male stage presence.

Lucas: Not great considering Haverford is all testosterone.

Dylan: When you say it like that, it sounds so awful. All testosterone… I can’t believe that’s something our society idolizes.

Lucas: You’re gay.

Dylan: And? I like men, not hormones. It’s not like when I kiss Asher I’m thinking about his sexy cortisol levels.

Riley gets them back on track, reiterating the problem. With their arrangement the way it is right now -- head count and track list -- they’re royally fucked. Dylan and Lucas concur, agreeing that they’re going to need to find some additional male star power to fill the gaps Farkle is leaving behind.

Now where are they going to find that… Dylan glances around them, as if something is missing, and arrives at the obvious answer at the same time as Riley and Lucas. They all exchange a look, tacitly acknowledging exactly who their saving grace should be.

INT. AAA - PROP LOFT - DAY

Convincing that saving grace, well, that’s another story.

Asher: No.

Asher turns away from Lucas and Dylan, both having just pitched the idea to him. He continues to shake his head adamantly even as they scramble to appeal to his better angels, avoiding eye contact by aimlessly shifting around props on the shelves.

Lucas: We’re running out of options --

Dylan: You’re the best damn performer in this school --

Lucas: We’re literally running on empty right now --

Dylan: No, the best performer in the whole state --

Lucas: This whole thing is about to go spectacularly to shit, and you’re really going to sit there and do nothing?

Asher: [ holding up a finger ] Don’t guilt trip me.

Lucas: Well what else am I supposed to do, Asher, when we’re standing on the precipice of total annihilation and you won’t even consider stepping in to save us? When we lose and my political agenda to improve the status and future of Adams itself goes down the tubes, there will be no one left to blame but the secretary who didn’t show up.

Asher: You are so dramatic. Hell, you go up there and take the spot. You can at least match Farkle for theatrics.

Dylan: Come on, Ash! You learn fast, and everyone knows you’ve got talent. You performed during comfort zone week.

Asher: Yes, specifically because it was outside my comfort zone. Hence, the assignment being referred to as “comfort zone week.” And there were consequences if I didn’t. There were grades involved. There was pressure.

Lucas: There’s pressure now. Me. I’m pressuring you to do it.

Dylan: And also last week. Remember “Boogie Shoes?” It was fun!

Asher: A performance for convenience’s sake. Very low stakes. And I was doing it with you. That’s different.

Lucas: So why can’t you do it again now, for convenience’s sake, when the team needs you? Can’t you just, I don’t know, go feral for a week and unleash it all and then we’ll all move on? Just do it, spaghetti!

Asher scowls and narrows his eyes, pointedly dropping the prop he was moving back on the shelf. He whips around to face them again as he responds, escalating in pitch as the words tumble out.

Asher: How many times do I have to tell you that I HAVE ANXIETY!!

Well, Lucas wanted feral Asher, and boy does he get him. Lucas and Dylan both go quiet as Asher spirals into a deliciously lively spiel about how anxiety works, and no he cannot just turn it off for “convenience sake,” and you Lucas James Friar really have no conception of how other people’s feelings work, not to mention the fact that even if he did think he could keep up with the performers for this it will be in front of a huge audience, which is a big fat automatic no. It’s not that he doesn’t want to help, or be a team player, of course he does, all he ever does is try to be a team player, that’s like his whole life playbook, but sometimes they all ask just a little too much of him! Sometimes he has to put his foot down and say no! Although it’s quite an impressive monologue, the whole thing kind of has a ridiculous comedic hue to it.

Asher: So no, I am not brain dead enough to act like I’m good enough to step into the showdown setlist. I would pass out the moment I hit the stage, and I think if I have to learn all that in five days I’ll break out in hives, and if I have to work with Maya Hart I swear to God I will pitch myself off the catwalk. So read my lips. No. No! Nay! Negatory!

Dylan, under his breath: Thesaurus bonus.

Asher: I will absolutely not perform in that sinking ship that is showdown. And there is nothing -- nada! -- you could possibly do or say that will make me change my mind.

Asher exhales a huff, raising his eyebrows and daring them to challenge him on it. Lucas and Dylan blink, exchanging a look out of the corner of their eyes. Then they glance back to Asher, perhaps at a stalemate…

Then Dylan smiles.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “4 Minutes” as performed by Glee Cast || Instrumental

The horns blare, signaling that we’re on a roll again -- and Asher is in Farkle’s spot. He spins around to reveal him amidst the performers, looking overwhelmed and reluctant, but doing his best to keep up with the new choreography as Maya continues to clap out the beat.

So much for no way, Jose! In the wings, Lucas and Dylan watch smugly, victorious. Lucas shakes his head at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

Lucas: And he calls me dramatic. What sort of threat did you have to throw at him to get him to cave?

Dylan: [ with a sly smile ] Who said anything about a threat…

They exchange another side glance, Dylan’s smile widening. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Lucas rolls his eyes.

But while Isadora and Asher fill out much needed lapses in captivating stage presence, “4 Minutes” is a disaster with them in the ensemble -- let alone trying to fill the shoes of such different performers. It just doesn’t work for this new combination of people, and it doesn’t take long for Maya to shut it down and declare the run-through a failure.

Maya: Though who is surprised, considering the no-meat chicken legs we’ve subbed in for Farkle.

Dylan: Oh boy.

Asher: I’m sorry, Maya, did you see anyone else chomping at the bit to join this trainwreck. No? I wonder why… maybe because they didn’t want to be yelled at by Tyrant Barbie.

Maya: Deflect all you want, Garcia. It’s not my fault your chicken legs can’t keep up.

Asher: Oh, say that again. I dare you. Say it again.

Maya: [ into her bullhorn ] Cluck. Cluck.

Asher: Okay, that’s it --

Tensions are already high, and Asher and Maya are the perfect gasoline to set it all on fire. Dylan and Lucas dart out of the wings just as Riley and Isadora dart between Maya and Asher, nudging them towards opposite sides of the stage. Asher tries to leap for Maya but Dylan grabs him by the torso and yanks him backwards, facing him away from her.

The rest of the class has broken into chaos with them, but Riley shouts to restore order. She points out that losing their heads isn’t going to do them any favors. They need to keep their cool if they want any chance of getting through this week -- and that means everyone.

Zay: Take her bullhorn away, I think that’s a good first step.

Crisis temporarily averted, Riley jumps into team brainstorming. Clearly, something isn’t clicking. Her brain is working a mile a minute, trying to land on what the problem might be.

Haley: Maybe we just need more people? There’s strength in numbers.

Darby: Haverford has at least 25 boys competing from their senior class. We’re not even matching that.

Yindra: A good performance doesn’t need quantity. It takes quality.

Missy: Which is clearly out of stock in this auditorium.

Nate: Well maybe if we had more quantity, we’d collectively get more quality.

Considering the stakes and tension, Yindra takes NATE MARTINEZ’s snippy tone as a dig, and the two of them start to bicker. Riley cuts it off preemptively, Nate retreating over to Jeff and Jade. Dylan jumps in, trying to help.

Dylan: If we need more people, I can tag in.

Maya: For the love of God…

Dylan: I don’t learn as fast as Ash, but I can pick up enough to get by.

Lucas: Help round out the male presence too.

Riley: Yeah. Yeah, that’s great Dylan, thanks.

A potential solution for now. Maya tells everyone to take five and then they’ll regroup to run it again one more time before they wrap for the afternoon -- and Dylan should start getting tips from others in the meantime if he’s gonna catch up.

But Riley stays put while the others disperse. Her brow is still crinkled, lost in thought. It’s great that they’ve got another talented person bolstering their performance, but something about it still doesn’t feel right.

And though she dreads to think it, she wonders if the issue runs much deeper than manpower.

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Isadora catches up to a grumpy and frazzled Maya, pulling her aside and advising her to take a deep, cleansing breath. Maya waves off the impact of such a silly gesture outright, yet she complies anyway and takes a long, theatrical breath.

Once she’s done, Isadora continues.

Isadora: After rehearsal, I want you to come with me. I think I have something that’ll make you feel better.

Maya: Oh, do you? Bold claim, Izzy. Don’t tease me. You’d need a miracle to relieve the tension knots I’ve got in my starlet shoulders right now.

Isadora: And I’ve got just that. This will be good, whether we win showdown or not.

Isadora raises her eyebrows, playfully challenging her not to agree, then saunters off with a knowing smirk. Seems like a high bar, but Maya is intrigued nonetheless.

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - SENIOR LOUNGE - DAY

We hear the familiar track of the A class’s rendition of “Rain On Me,” but it’s filtered through tinny laptop speakers rather than being appreciated in its full glory.

That’s because a bunch of the Haverford boys are watching a recording of their semi-finals performance on DWEEZIL HOWARD’s laptop. Professional-grade filming, all right there for them to see. Brandon’s flash drive is plugged into the computer. The Havies laugh and talk amongst themselves as they watch the performance, both making fun of it and making note of all the ways Adams might be a threat at the same time.

Evan: Babineaux is a really good dancer.

Havie: Yeah, thankfully he took care of himself so that we didn’t have to.

A couple others snort, high-fiving. Charlie enters the student lounge, pausing when he hears the unfamiliar content his classmates are watching. He frowns slightly, listening closely. Curiously, it actually sounds strangely familiar… like… but no, it couldn’t be…

Then he hears a baritone he would recognize anywhere -- Zay on his brief vocal solo -- and he knows his instincts are right. It is the A class, the medley of his former peers’ voices undeniable once he confirms it.

He makes his way over, trying his best to be cool and casual as he joins them. Most of the boys greet him cheerfully, though Dweezil’s smile fades and he tenses up when he realizes Charlie has joined them. It seems like he wants to turn the screen away, but it’s too late.

Charlie: [ feigning ignorance ] What’s everyone looking at?

Havie: Check it -- Brandon got his hands on the Adams showcase.

Charlie takes the invitation, stepping closer and looking over his classmates to see for himself. There they are, right in front of his eyes -- the A class, doing their full routine at semi-finals. Someone makes a snide comment about one of Maya’s vocal runs and the group chuckles, Charlie awkwardly laughing along.

Charlie, innocently: Isn’t that against the rules?

Havie 2: Only if you get caught.

Havie, smugly: Considering we’ve done this for the last six years, I don’t think the showdown rules committee is especially strict.

The last six years? That certainly explains Haverford’s damning winning streak… and Brandon’s sudden desire to change up their setlist. He’s making tweaks based on AAA’s performance, finding ways to heighten their strengths and set them even further apart from the competition. Charlie swallows, trying to process everything without giving away his panic, but Dweezil is watching him like a hawk.

EVAN SCOTT notices too, eyeing him with concern.

Evan: You okay, Charlie?

Charlie hesitates, unsure what to say. He knows it matters. Tell us who you are. Tell us who you are. Tell us who you are…

Then he relaxes, managing an easy smile. Stepping into that same charm he flexes at church, disarming everyone and negating any need to give him a second thought.

Charlie: I was just thinking my former classmates were going to bring tougher competition. [ nodding to the video ] Obviously, I was wrong.

The boys laugh, nodding and hooting in agreement. A couple of them pat Charlie on the arm, and he flashes the Prince Charming smile. But once attention goes back to the Adams tape, the veneer dims.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - ELEVATOR - DAY

Maya eyes Isadora with suspicion as the two girls travel up in an elevator. Isadora has refused to explain what’s going on, but has an uncontrollable smile on her face. 

Maya: If you’re bringing me here to show me a new luxe pad you and Eric are getting, it will not make me feel better, I hope you realize.

Isadora laughs, but says nothing. The elevator dings as the doors slide open.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - HALLWAY - DAY

Isadora leads Maya to the door for apartment 803 and stops in front of it, her excitement palpable. Maya raises her eyebrows and looks at Isadora expectantly. 

Isadora: Open it. 

Maya: I really don’t have time for this, Izzy. Your dance skills are severely lacking, remember, and this is starting to feel like a way to avoid practice. 

Isadora: [ with an eye roll ] Just go in. Trust me.

Maya sighs, but obliges.

INT. APARTMENT 803 - DAY

Behind the door is a cozy apartment with large windows looking out to the city. There isn’t much furniture, only the essentials such as a couch and kitchen table, along with cardboard boxes dotted around. With her back to Isadora and Maya, a blonde woman crouches to dig through one of the boxes.

Maya looks around as they enter, impressed but confused. Upon hearing their entrance, the woman hurriedly stands up and turns to them. It’s KATY HART, who grins when she sees her daughter.

When Maya notices her mother, her jaw drops. She stands frozen for a moment while Katy rushes over and embraces her. It takes a moment for her brain to catch up, but when it does, Maya hugs her back just as tightly, squealing with joy.

When they pull apart, both their faces are streaked with tears. Katy holds Maya’s head in her hands and brushes hair away from her face.

Maya: I missed you so much. 

Katy: It’s so good to see you, baby girl.

Maya: I don’t… why are you here? How are you here? What even is here?

Katy looks over at Isadora. When Maya spins around to follow Katy’s gaze, realization hits her. She looks around the apartment again, this time in awe. 

Maya: Is this… for us? 

Isadora: My mom made a lot of promises that she didn’t end up keeping. Moving Katy back to New York to be with you was one of the biggest. It didn’t feel fair for that to fall apart because of her death. I’ll foot the rent bill until you’re all settled and find new work and help with the decorating. 

Katy: You’re such an angel, Isadora. I can never thank you enough for this.

Isadora waves Katy off, a blush rising to her cheeks. A fresh wave of tears hits Maya and she pulls Isadora in for a hug. 

Maya: You’re the best. The absolute best. I love you, thank you. 

Isadora, lightly: You’ll pay me back when you’re rich and famous, anyway.

While Maya takes off to inspect every detail of the space and begin designing her dream apartment in her head, Katy stays with Isadora. She gives her a warm smile. 

Katy: You’re growing up into such a fine young woman. I’m sure Valerie would’ve been so proud. 

Isadora, quietly: Thank you. 

Katy: Eric is wonderful, but know that I’m here if you ever need a mom to talk to, okay?

Katy gives Isadora a small pat on the shoulder, then heads over to where Maya is taking pictures of the space. Maya grins up at her mother and hugs her again. 

Maya: I need to make sure you’re really here and not a figment of my imagination. The power of my creativity has been astounding me lately. Remember what I told you about the dentist? Well, I had a revelation…

Isadora watches on with a bittersweet smile. Not a bad first impact to make with what Valerie left behind.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Lucas is at his usual spot behind the counter, but work is slow and his mood is even more dejected than normal. Riley is in the same low spirit, chin propped on her hand as she sits opposite him on a stool, both of them talking about Adams’ increasingly poor chances at finals. At this point, with the way they’re hobbling through it, it’ll be a miracle if they aren’t booed off the stage.

Lucas: It’s fine. I wouldn’t be the first president to make promises they didn’t keep -- nor the last, I’m sure.

Riley: I just… I feel like we’re stuck. [ sitting up straighter ] It’s like, we’re not short on star power or talent. We’re not short on effort. We all want this victory, maybe for different reasons, but there is a unified cause. That’s not always the case with our class.

Lucas: You’re cute. It’s never the case.

Riley: My point is that we have all the elements, all the right pieces, but I feel like we’re trying to put them together to create a tableaux that doesn’t… exist anymore. Like sure, the routine got us through semis, but it was a different time and a different team. By sticking so tightly to this predetermined vision of how things were supposed to go, I think we’re shooting ourselves in the foot. Like shoving a round block into a square hole -- it just doesn’t fit.

Maybe so, but what’s the alternative? Start over from scratch, with a week to go? Riley admits that it seems daunting…

Riley: But I don’t know. At this point, what do we have to lose? There’s so much talent that we’re not highlighting in this set, so much unique charm in our class. And I think if we have any chance of beating Haverford, it’s going to be because of all those things that set us apart. We’ve pulled off greater feats before, I think we could do it if we all really committed to it. [ with a sigh ] But I know that’s not going to happen. No one wants to risk changing it up.

Understandably so, but it’s clear it’s weighing on her. She presses her palms to her eyes, releasing another sigh. Lucas frowns, obviously wishing there was more he could do to fix it -- he doesn’t even have the words to comfort her since he’s no good with them. But he offers an attempt, speaking softly.

Lucas: Look, you know I’m the last person you should go to for performing advice, so I can’t exactly comment on whether the setlist would be better off scrapped. I mean, I know it’s a fucking trainwreck right now --

Riley: I think that’s clear to even the most presentationally challenged.

Lucas: But what I do know is that I trust you. If your gut is telling you that something about this isn’t right, then I believe it. Your instincts are almost as sharp as mine --

Riley: Almost?

Lucas: In performing, you outrank me. Everything else, up for debate. [ off her nose crinkle ] Bottom line, you know what you’re talking about. And when you talk, people listen. If you feel like doing this might save our chances, wild as it might be, then you should tell the others. And whatever you choose to do, I’m marching right behind you.

Wow… well, with that shining seal of approval… Riley holds his gaze, contemplating his words. Then she manages a tired smile, taking his hands and pressing a quick kiss to his knuckles.

The brief slice of serenity is interrupted when Charlie pushes through the door, spotting Riley at the counter. He rushes over and tosses half a greeting towards Lucas, restless and out of breath, then turns to Riley.

Charlie: I need to talk to you.

Riley: Well, good thing we’re having lunch then. [ hopping off the stool ] Do you want to like order anything first --

Charlie, desperate: No, Riley, I -- it can’t wait. It’s important.

Riley clocks his nerves, losing her friendly ease. She takes his arm and leads him quickly to a booth.

Riley: What’s wrong? Is everything okay with your family? Rosie, or Bridgette --

Charlie: No, no, they’re fine. It’s not about that. It’s about showdown.

Riley: Showdown? [ uncertain ] Charlie, I don’t know if we should be discussing…

Charlie: Not like what Haverford is doing. I mean, sort of -- [ hitting his palm against his forehead in agitation ] shit.

Riley: Charlie, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?

Charlie screws his eyes shut, inhaling a breath and holding it. When he opens his eyes, he meets her gaze, and that’s the moment where it’s all or nothing. Dangerous consequences in either direction, the fear of action paralyzing him, but that same question rattling in his skull.

Tell us who you are.

Charlie exhales, eye contact steady as he steels himself.

Charlie: There’s something you need to know.

Riley stares at him, eyes wide, bracing for the unknown.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The A class is assembled on the stage, forming a semblance of a circle around Riley. She’s holding court, reluctantly delivering the bad news.

Riley: Haverford knows our setlist.

The reaction is instantaneous. There’s a mix of gasp and curses, and only seconds before nervous and indignant chatter breaks out. What? How? You’re kidding.

Isadora: How is that even possible?

Riley: As far as I know, they got their hands on a recording of our performance at semis from an outside source.

Zay: So they didn’t risk getting caught recording themselves.

Chai: Lord knows they could afford it.

Riley: They’ve been using it to alter their routine. They’ve already changed a lot of stuff to contrast ours.

Lucas: And apparently they’ve been doing this for a while. [ pointedly ] Like six years.

Nate: Those bitches.

Dave: So many people begging to get egged these days.

Asher: So we should report them. If we file a complaint, the sponsors will investigate and they’ll no doubt find the footage on them. Karma.

Riley: No, we can’t. It’s probably too late for them to do a thorough investigation anyway, and I don’t want this to blowback on Charlie. He risked a lot telling me about it, I’m not going to risk throwing him under the bus if they find out we know.

Nigel: Or worse, if they think he snitched himself.

Riley: I mean, imagine if one of us went and told Haverford information we wanted to keep secret. What would you do to them?

Maya: Itching powder in their stage make-up and a full-throttle psychological assault until they’re so worn down they drop out and transfer to Quincy High to be a humdrum accountant for the rest of their days. [ a beat ] Oh, I see. You meant that rhetorically.

Long story short, no going to the disciplinary committee. It wouldn’t do much, anyway, seeing as the only technical proof they have is word of mouth. This grim reality settles over them, Yindra declaring what everyone is thinking.

Yindra: Well, it’s over. Nice run, gals and gays.

Maybe so… the energy in the room plummets, the feeble hope keeping them moving dissolving with their prospects of a showdown victory. Zay grits his teeth, crumbling the edges of his choreography sheets. Maya delicately places her bullhorn at her feet, walking away from it and turning from the group to hide her emotion. Dylan rests his chin on Asher’s shoulder; Isadora reaches for Farkle’s hand and squeezes, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.

Riley looks around at all her classmates, empathizing with their defeat… until her gaze lands on Lucas. He’s already looking at her, watching her expectantly. He dips his head in half a nod, subtly emphasizing his earlier encouragement. It might feel hopeless, but if there were any time to suggest the impossible… and where she leads, he will follow…

Riley squares her shoulders, keeping her eyes locked on his, and finds her voice.

Riley: Maybe it’s not over just yet.

She certainly captures everyone’s attention. Heads perk up and eyebrows raise as Riley steps center stage, appealing to all of them that the fight isn’t over until the results are read Saturday.

Sarah: Come on, Matthews. You can’t be serious.

Nate: Yeah, I mean, I love the sunshine bit as much as the next baddie, but how are you going to spin this?

Riley: Am I wrong? This thing isn’t done until a victor is declared -- or we decide it’s over. And I don’t know about you all, but I’m not looking to just hand over a win to the Havies, especially one they really don’t deserve.

Maya: … okay, I’m listening. Make your pitch, Riles, and make it a good one.

And she does, ardently. The way she sees it, their chances aren’t dead. They just have to reinvent themselves. Rearrange, reorganize, find a better way of showcasing who they are and what they’re about. They did it last year -- in circumstances much harder than these -- and came out stronger for it. They’re a team now, and if they could survive all of that, they can rise above this. They just have to do exactly that: showcase who they are.

Riley: Haverford thinks that to win, they need to know what we’re up to ahead of time -- which means they’re scared -- and prove all the ways they aren’t us. Well, I say we hit them back right where it hurts and show just how much they can’t match our stride.

Nigel: With what, a whole new routine?

Darby: You’re kidding. In a week?

Riley: Every week we come up with dozens of performances! That’s what we spend every single day in this school doing. And with all of us working together? Yeah, I think we could pull something off.

Clarissa: Something the Havies have no way of cheating to beat...

Exactly! Now we’re feeling the spirit! The energy is tentative, just starting to bubble up again amidst them all, hope peeking back out through the darkness to shed some light. Riley feeds off it, growing more impassioned.

Riley: And this time, we need to focus on all of the things that make us stand out. That make us different, better, special. What are some of the things we have that Haverford doesn’t?

Farkle, flatly: … women?

He’s somewhat joking, but Riley rolls with it. She taps her nose in agreement, a signal to keep the ball rolling. The wheels are turning now…

Yindra: Individuality. You don’t see us walking around in some pretentious ass uniforms.

Nigel: And the best costumer in the state in our ranks.

[ All eyes turn to Jade, who flushes. She bashfully pushes some hair behind her ear from her spot beside NIGEL CHEY, but then straightens up in an attempt to match the confidence. ]

Jade: A costumer who did just submit all her applications and now has free time to make something new…

The thought process keeps moving from there. Personality. Some of the best young talent in the city. Skilled technicians.

Riley: We have one of the best student technician programs in the country here, and yet there’s never a focus on that at showdown. But we can change that. Jade can make costumes that are unforgettable. We can play with movement, set pieces, production details that’ll put it over the top. These are the kind of things we should be showcasing, the things we’re so lucky to have in this class that the Haverford boys will never get.

For what it’s worth, it seems like everyone is coming around. The spark is back, and even if it’s a futile mission, might as well go out with a bang rather than fizzle to nothing before the fire truly gets going.

As if to cement the mission, Maya makes a statement of her own. She scoops her bullhorn off the floor and marches to center stage… then hands it over to Riley. A symbolic passing of the torch for a new game plan. She gives her a smirk, only the slightest bit reluctant to relinquish control.

Maya: Bang bang.

Yes, Riley Matthews has let her firecracker side take control. She returns Maya’s smile, choosing not to use the bullhorn but launching into planning mode regardless. She turns to Zay first, asking if he’d still be willing to sketch out new choreography for them on such short notice and although he can’t run through it himself.

Riley: We should have never boxed you out of the vision. You’re the best dancer there is, and that doesn’t change just because you can’t do it yourself at the moment. [ a beat ] Do you think you can do it?

Zay: … [ as if it’s a difficult decision ] It won’t be anywhere near as good as it would be with more time and actual mobility, but I’m sure I can throw something together.

The corners of his mouth lift just slightly, signaling to Riley what she wants to hear. Apology accepted. She nods, grateful for more than one thing.

Nate: You should get Jeff to help. He’s a killer break dancer.

Zay: That’s true. If we’re talking about underutilized assets, that’s a big one. You can probably fill some of the gaps left behind by me with some skillful showing off. Even just some basic party trick break dancing will wow a standard audience. [ to Jeff ] What do you say?

Jeff: As long as I can map out the lighting design and pass it off to Lucas, then I say hells yeah.

Sick! Jeff jogs over to Zay and exchanges a fist bump handshake with him, Riley grinning at both of them. She then turns to Farkle.

Riley: I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.

Isadora raises her eyebrows at this. News to her, though she definitely clocked his uneven mood as of late… Farkle listens attentively, waiting for Riley’s request.

Riley: But you’re the most creative person I know when it comes to innovating music, at least from a spectacle standpoint. [ re: Clarissa ] And we’ve got an amazing concert musician in our midst who knows a thing or two about composition. Between you, Clarissa, and Nate’s mixing skills, I think you might be able to mash together a showstopper not easily forgotten.

Farkle: Give me the tone you’re going for, and I’ll see what this basket case can deliver.

Okay, now we’re cooking with fire! Riley turns to Jade, but she’s already moving, passing by her with Asher, Nigel, and Haley in tow en route to the costume loft.

Jade: Already on it. Let me know the setlist when it’s mapped out.

Having spun basically all the way around, Riley is back to Lucas. She meets his eyes, the two of them holding eye contact for a long moment. The rest of the techies and remaining A class yet to be assigned a task stand at attention, waiting for marching orders… but he’s looking to her. The hint of a flirtatious challenge laced in his expression, daring her to tell him what to do.

And she does, though she can’t help the teasing smirk that ghosts over her features.

Riley: If we’re going to pull this off, it’s going to be all hands on deck. The techies might have to work double time to pull together what we need, but it’ll be worth it to show off how fantastic we really are. And you can put the performers to work too when we’re not rehearsing… if you think you can do it.

Challenge laid down... as if there was ever any doubt he would accept it. But Lucas plays along, unable to hold back the slight quirk in his lips that mirrors her own. He doesn’t break eye contact with her, but declares to the assembled group:

Lucas: You heard her.

That they did, Lucas. Loud and clear! Riley continues to smile at him as the A class erupts into a flurry of movement around her, back to work and more energized than ever before. The engine of Motown swing rumbles to life, underscoring the new endeavor…

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Get Ready / Dancing In The Street” as performed by Motown The Musical Original Broadway Cast Recording || Performed by AAA Seniors

The performance carries through the ensuing montage of the A class hustling to put together a brand new routine, firing on all cylinders to bring it together. To kick us off, Riley starts in the black box classroom with Zay, Yindra, Maya, and Isadora, deliberating on the white board about what songs or series of songs should populate their new list. There’s a lot of key words scattered across the board -- individuality, range, the power of women -- but it seems they’ve already narrowed it down to their chosen concept.

Riley finishes up jotting down all the ideas on a piece of paper, the others leaning over to snap photos and send them out to people in the class. Sarah rushes in and takes the original paper from Riley, saluting as she takes off again into the hallway with it. The moment she’s out there door of one room --

INT. AAA - PRACTICE ROOM - DAY

She’s dashing into the next, joining Farkle, Nate, and CLARISSA CRUZ in the practice studio. Sarah hands the setlist ideas to Farkle at the piano, settling down next to DARBY WINTERS who is helping try out chords on her guitar. Nate has one half of his industrial headset on, fiddling with a sound mixing program on his chunky laptop as they avidly discuss whatever they’re scheming together.

Clarissa is listening with rapt attention to the discussion, only tuning out when she gets a text on her phone. She quickly lets them know she’ll be back in a minute, darting out of the studio --

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

And arriving in the costume loft, though she pauses in the doorway. Jade is already dealing with someone, Maya having paid a visit to the costume loft to argue over certain costume concepts in regards to the new setlist. Just before the dance break, the music quiets somewhat, vamping under the scene as it unfolds.

While Maya is at her full diva pitch -- though, to be fair, she is just trying to do what she thinks is best for the team -- Jade Beamon has finally had enough. She stops trying to ignore Maya and holds up a hand to stop her costuming team at work, Asher, Nigel, Yindra, and Isadora pausing and staring as Jade swivels to face off with her. She sharply and deftly defends her vision for the costuming, citing her thought process with curt, to the point reasoning. She also takes Maya down with impressive calmness, especially considering the circumstances and the fact that Maya used to make her cry from being so nitpicky just about two years ago.

Jade: Believe it or not, Maya, I think I know what I’m doing given that I’ve designed almost every costume you’ve worn and made you look good for the past three and a half years. So how about you focus on your business, and you let me handle mine?

Damn. Mic drop! Maya stares at her, processing the clapback and debating whether to tear her to shreds in response or not… but ultimately, she opts to back off. If anything, Jade growing a backbone might’ve been the cure to Maya’s overbearing obnoxiousness the whole time. She leaves Jade to it, claiming she should let her know if she needs any additional help -- she’ll send someone else to do it tout de suite.

The others watch in fascination as Maya Hart retreats, strutting past Clarissa shocked and awed in the doorway. Jade takes a deep breath, recentering herself, and flips her loose ponytail back over her shoulder.

Jade: Where were we?

Back to work, team! No time to waste! They get back down to business as if nothing happened, which is impressive considering that was some big news we just witnessed.

The only one who doesn’t immediately get back to work is Nigel, who continues to stare at Jade like he can’t believe she’s real. What a woman…

As the dance break instrumentation swells back to full volume --

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Zay is tapping out the beat to a track with his good foot, bopping his head and talking through some choreography and steps with Jeff and Chai. They actually walk through the steps since he can’t, but the rapport seems to be good, and whatever they’re putting together already looks cool. They land on a particularly neat idea for a combination and Jeff and Chai high-five, the former leaning over to fist bump Zay too.

Suddenly, the dance studio that felt so lonely and isolated for so long is filled with camaraderie and enthusiasm again. Zay grins, feeling the rhythm again even though he can’t be on his feet. He jots down the combination idea, flipping the paper over --

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And becoming Dave slamming a paint bucket at his feet, working with Dylan to put together a rolling flat that will become part of the dynamic backdrop for their performance. Dylan tests it by hopping onto it, throwing his arms out as Dave practices pushing it. They roll seamlessly out of the wings and onto the stage as the last pre-chorus launches into the final minute…

Where we find the A class back together, running through choreography and vocals together of their new routine. In this moment they perform the current song, subbing in for what their actual setlist will be, but getting the energy up and translating the hard work all the same. It’s powerful seeing them all come together, truly united like never before, and showing off exactly why they’re at such an elite school in the first place.

Zay takes the final belted run of the performance, jumping up from his seat where he, Lucas, and Maya are watching the run through. He throws his head back and lets it fly, the rest of the class backing him up at the very end to drive the number home.

Break 1.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The A class finishes an actual run through of their new routine, the passage of time indicated by the fact that they’re all in new rehearsal clothes. They’re breathless and sweaty but teeming with excitement. Even if it’s slapdash, even if it ends up not being enough, they clearly feel invigorated by whatever they’re putting out there. There is something so naturally riveting about underdogs making their last shot…

Zay has the floor in Riley’s absence, giving feedback and not only pointing out what could use refinement, but also what’s working. The positive reinforcement seems to be helpful, keeping everyone in light spirits in spite of the odds stacked against them.

As they’re about to break for rehearsal for the evening, Maya pipes up, asking if she can have a few words. Zay is reluctant, but obliges, stepping back next to Lucas.

Maya reveals that while they have been working hard on a majority of their new banging setlist, they still haven’t settled definitively on an opening number. Nothing has quite clicked right yet. Because of this, she argues, they’re going to need something that will fall together effortlessly -- which means a diva number. Since the rest of their routine is so heavy on the ensemble, it shouldn’t be an issue to let a powerful mezzo soprano kick off their show. It’s traditional, really, to have a star force central to some part of a showdown routine.

Maya: Lucky for us, I have the perfect pitch. It came to me in a vision, actually, when I was heavily incapacitated in a dire health operation --

Farkle: Oh no.

Isadora: It was a filling, Maya.

Maya: And I can think of the perfect starlet to carry the number.

For a moment, the class hangs in limited suspense. Of course, she’s going to volunteer herself. But then Maya steps across the stage, making her way to stand in front of Yindra.

Maya: If we’re showcasing the best and most underutilized, then I believe the choice is obvious. [ off her surprise ] Now I’m not giving up this opportunity lightly -- and rest assured, the pain in my ego is so blinding I will probably have to undergo another incapacitating surgery to recover from it --

Zay: Really selling the selflessness here.

Maya: But I know you’ve got what it takes. If anyone here was ever sincerely a threat to my mezzo diva dominance… I can admit you come close. So now is the time to deliver, Amino.

Another crazy moment. Maya, sharing the spotlight… I guess that’s growth. Yindra beams, shrugging her shoulders suavely.

Yindra: Don’t have to ask me twice. Let’s get to staging.

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Post-rehearsal mayhem, everyone is rushing around gathering their things for the weekend and making sure they’re all up to date on what the plan is for tomorrow. Isadora bumps into Farkle, asking him if he’s seen Riley, but he merely shrugs.

Farkle: I think she said last week that she had a doctor’s appointment. Probably wasn’t planning for our entire showcase to change in that time.

Isadora: Yeah, no kidding.

Whatever she wants to debrief with Riley, it’ll have to wait until later. Isadora starts to check in with him, see if everything is okay since he randomly stepped down from the spotlight -- concerningly out of character, in her opinion -- but Farkle dodges the question.

This doesn’t sit well with her, but she lets it go for now. Too many crises going on right now to keep up with -- though Farkle will always be high on her priority list.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Yindra is hanging back to gather the last of her things and read through the new opening number choreography one more time, lightly stepping through the moves as she sings to herself under her breath. The rhythm sounds slightly familiar, but it’s just soft enough that only someone really listening carefully could make it out.

It stops soon anyway, Yindra halting and jumping in embarrassment when Zay appears in the doorway. She tilts her chin up and grows defensive again, but it’s clear the effort of being cold with him is tiring. He chooses not to acknowledge it, entering the classroom and commending her for her soft-shoe last-minute rehearsing.

Zay: If it looks that great at 10% volume, I’m sure we’ll have no issues on Saturday.

Yindra: … well, I’m sure you wish it was you taking the diva opening. Since you’re the one working the hardest all the time.

Zay: Nah. If we’re aiming to secure an instant jaw-dropper, Maya couldn’t have chosen a better leading lady. Even if I were fit enough to be considered a contender right now.

Oh. Well that’s… nice. Yindra shifts focus to put her choreo sheets in her shoulder bag. Zay approaches and settles on top of a desktop to ease off his boot, taking the opportunity to guide the conversation.

Zay: Do you remember when we became friends?

Yindra, loftily: … was it when Miss Moore partnered us for duet assignments the second week of freshman year and promised a prize to the best breakout first duet, and we brought the house down with “Stand Up For Love,” but she chose Farkle and Maya instead?

Zay, amused: No. Though that was classic. [ a beat ] And maybe an eerie premonition about dear Angela.

Yindra: Anyone who chooses Anything Goes over the Destiny’s Child is deranged, so.

No arguments here. The moment of fellowship passes quickly, but it doesn’t feel like it’s gone for good... Yindra nods, still trying to maintain her aloof demeanor but allowing Zay to elaborate.

Zay: It was earlier than that, first week of class. No one really knew anyone, except like Haley and Clarissa since they met over the summer or whatever. So it kind of felt like every day was coming into battle alone. Anyway, Maya was giving her first -- of many, many -- psychotic mini-monologues before a performance, and this one was especially cracked. Probably because she was trying to establish her bitchutation.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - FLASHBACK - DAY

Though it’s brief, we catch a glimpse of what the world was like all those years ago. The A class -- or those that we can see -- are styled to look how they might’ve that first year, awkward and definitely poorly dressed compared to now. Freshman year is so hard. A slightly frazzled ANGELA MOORE attempts to maintain order, but clearly the A class of 2021 is already proving to be a… unique challenge.

True to Zay’s word, most of them are sitting on their own, though there are clusters where it seems friendship has already sprouted. An even shyer Charlie is sitting behind Clarissa and Haley, who keeps glancing over her shoulder to smile at him and then giggling nervously. Dylan, Dave, and Nate are whispering and passing notes mischievously -- Dylan with his embarrassing glasses and Bieber cut -- while Asher watches him wistfully from a couple desks away where he’s sitting with Jade. Farkle is in his blazer and semi-bowl cut and shooting daggers into Maya who is loudmouthing up at the front; Lucas is nowhere to be seen.

Zay is seated amidst it all, but distinctly on his own. He’s probably dressed better than most of his peers even then, and his hair is different than he wears it now, but even someone as cool as him can’t shake the quintessential freshman awkwardness. Presently, he’s scowling as Maya talks, clearly unimpressed.

Zay, voiceover: Now, I admit, I was making a bit of a stank face. I mean, it was Maya. But I remember I glanced around to see if everyone else was hearing this nonsense --

Freshman Zay does just that, freezing and reigning in his distaste when he spots Yindra. Her hair is different as well, and she’s not clothed as fashionably as she is these days. But she’s glancing towards Zay, too, and he doesn’t want to seem like a bitch. However…

Zay, voiceover: And you were making the exact same face.

For a second, freshman Yindra and Zay just stare at each other, caught. Then, Yindra cracks a smile, conspiratorial and a touch embarrassed. Zay immediately returns it, the two of them sharing a silent laugh across the room.

Zay, voiceover: That was when it clicked for me. I don’t think I even knew your name yet, but it felt like we’d been friends for years. Kindred spirits.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Back in the present, Zay finishes recounting the memory, light smile on his face as he looks at her. She’s listening but avoiding his eyes, fiddling with the strap of her bag.

Zay: And I was right. I think that’s probably the only thing I was right about from freshman year. [ slipping off the desk ] You and I are one in the same. That’s why we’re best friends. We have impeccable taste. We always bring it. We work our asses off. [ a beat ] We find it really hard to admit when we’re wrong… or when we’ve been stung.

True enough. Yindra clears her throat, tentatively meeting his eyes.

Zay: I’m sorry I was such a bitch. And I’m especially sorry that I made you think, even for a second, that you’re not good enough. That you’re not on my level or whatever bullshit I was selling this semester. It’s not true. You are the only person who is always on my level. Bar none.

Yindra: … well, you’re certainly not the only one good at being a little bitch…

Zay: No, but I get why you did it. Honestly, if the roles were reversed, I probably would’ve done the same to you. Like I said, one in the same. [ a beat ] And I hope you’ll forgive me and we can go back to the whole kindred spirit thing, because I really don’t want to miss the boat when you’re wildly successful in L.A. and inevitably lift me up with you. Just strategic thinking.

This, finally, really breaks the ice. Yindra can’t help but smile, shaking her head.

Yindra: You are so dramatic.

And then she’s hugging him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Zay returns it, relieved, and the universe tilts one degree closer to being back in order.

They pull apart, Yindra scrunching her face fondly and lightly patting his cheek. She reaches over to grab her bag and slings it over her shoulder, linking her arm through his as they slowly walk towards the door.

Zay: I’m serious about the career thing. Maybe we should tag team. Maybe we should go full Destiny’s Child.

Yindra: Ooh… [ tapping her chin ] But who’s gonna be our third…

Zay: Nigel?

Yindra: … well, we can always hold open auditions.

Zay laughs, the two of them disappearing into the hallway.

INT. TOPANGA’S CAR - MOVING - DAY

Riley is in the passenger seat of Topanga’s car, focused on a text thread where the A class is recapping any last-minute notes and thoughts for prep tomorrow. She types a quick response apologizing for not being there that afternoon and highlighting how hard everyone has worked. In her other hand, she’s clutching a prescription slip on her lap.

TOPANGA LAWRENCE comments that it’s good they arranged this doctor appointment for today -- she is so incredibly snowed under with work at the firm, it’s lucky she was able to drive Riley out today. As if Riley doesn’t know a thing or two about being swamped these days… still, her mother is in good spirits.

Topanga: I’m glad to hear everything seems to be in good shape, though. And smart of you to get this physical done in a timely manner -- your dad is such a disaster when it comes to keeping up with appointments. [ with a smile ] I must’ve raised you well.

Riley manages to return the smile, ignoring the comment about Cory. At this point, those are so natural to conversations with Topanga, it’s like white noise. Topanga casts a sideways glance at the prescription she has, knowing smirk ghosting over her lips.

Topanga: Though I think considering what you came to get, the reason you asked if I would take you is fairly obvious…

Riley awkwardly shifts her fingers on the slip, allowing us to get a better look at what she’s being prescribed for the first time. Birth control. She puts her phone in her pocket and absentmindedly fiddles with the braid on her shoulder.

Riley: I did think you were the much smarter option for help in this matter, yes.

Topanga: No doubt about that. You should spare Cory the knowledge of this little development as long as you possibly can. For his own good.

Yeah, Riley doesn’t seem to disagree on that. Although it’s just another one-up against Cory, they do exchange a small humorous smile, like a new inside joke they share.

Riley: Thanks for coming with me.

Topanga: Of course. [ a beat ] So… you and Lucas must be getting pretty serious, then.

Riley’s expression shifts into something softer. She looks out the window, unable to look at her mother as she contemplates it. Not because she’s embarrassed, but because something about Lucas and what they have is sacred. He’s something she doesn’t want -- or have to -- share with anybody else.

Still, thinking of him naturally elicits a delicate smile.

Riley: Yeah. Yeah, we are.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Lucas is packing up, stuffing things into his backpack. He takes care to handle the showcase binder gently, not wanting to do anything or lose anything that might throw them back into the pits of hopelessness.

But something does fall out anyway, dropping to the floor at his feet. He curses under his breath and slips the binder into his bag, crouching down to recover whatever escaped.

Money. A few crisp hundred dollar bills, folded neatly together. Lucas knows he’s not just carrying that kind of money around, and it’s clear that it was slipped into his things with careful intent. It’s no mystery where it came from.

But that also means someone was rooting through his stuff, once again intruding his sanctuary without permission. Lucas scowls, crumpling up the bills in his fist as he climbs back to his feet.

Missy, pre-lap: No, no, it’s supposed to be that side of the stage. Do you all have directional dyslexia?

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

MISSY BRADFORD is standing on the stage, directing a bunch of the underclassmen techies to move some final set piece adjustments. But they’re young and still learning, which she clearly doesn’t have the patience for. She shakes her head, unimpressed, while behind her we can see Lucas jogging down from the booth.

Missy: I swear, they just don’t make help like they used to…

Lucas: Hey!

Missy swivels around, expression brightening in interest when she sees who’s snapping at her. She saunters over to the edge of the stage as the younger techies disperse, leaving them alone.

Missy: Just the person I wanted to talk to. I finally got those panels for the rolling flats. Normally it shouldn’t take this long, especially considering how much I paid, but when it’s a rush job --

Lucas: What makes you think you can go through my shit?

Lucas’s tone is harsh, more scathing than the usual dry sarcasm he employs with her. But it doesn’t intimidate Missy much -- in fact, if anything, it just seems to intrigue her more. She raises her eyebrows as he reaches the front of the house, now standing essentially below her.

Lucas: And the booth. I told you you can’t just go waltzing in there whenever the fuck you want. To do whatever the fuck you want --

He tosses the crumpled bills at her feet on the stage, glaring up at her derisively. She shrugs coolly, clasping her hands together.

Missy: As far as I understand it, actually, the booth is available to all students for use. So I have every right to it just as much as you do.

Lucas clenches his jaw, obviously wanting to bite back, but in this case he has no argument. Technically, technically, she’s right. Even if every other student silently respects the unspoken rule that the booth is his, there’s nothing he can use against someone who doesn’t. His anger is palpable when he speaks again, voice low.

Lucas: This thing, whatever it is? It’s done. It has to stop.

Missy, innocently: “Thing?” I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about --

Lucas: Yes, you do. Cut the bullshit. Whatever game you’re playing, or… dance you think you’re doing, you’re doing it on your own. I’m done with it.

Bold words. And obviously not something Missy would want to hear… though for what it’s worth, she seems unfazed by his declaration. She maintains her confident nonchalance, examining him for a long moment… then holds her hands up in surrender.

Missy: Okay. I never meant to upset you, Lucas. I was just trying to help. [ a beat ] But if you’re really not into it anymore, you can always… give the money back.

Oh. Well… that’s not so simple. Lucas opens his mouth as if he’s going to respond, but nothing comes out. Some of the fire he marched down here with burns out, leaving him uncertain. And Missy sure notices, her sweetness sharpening into coy smugness. She tilts her head.

Missy: But you’re not going to do that. Are you?

She casually extends her designer shoe to kick at one of the discarded bills, threatening to send it down the thin gap between the orchestra pit and the floor. But Lucas reaches out to save it just in time, hastily catching it before it’s lost forever.

Got ‘em. She’s spotted Lucas’s brazen dismissal for exactly what it is -- a bluff.

And he’s clearly ashamed of it, how easily he caved, when the thing he needs so desperately is dangled in front of his face. Missy gives him a sympathetic look, but it’s closer to pity than empathy. It’s so hard to tell what is real from her, how much she actually sees Lucas as a human being versus an attractive puzzle for her to toy with.

But in this moment, she’s won, so she’s feeling charitable. She primly lowers herself down to sit on the stage across from him, crossing her legs and picking up the other wrinkled bills. She spreads them on her lap and smooths them as she talks, restoring them to pristine condition.

Missy: I thought we already discussed this. We’re on the same page about our little dynamic. And it’ll all be worth it, won’t it, when you get what you want… [ eyeing him ] if you truly care so much about UC Davis.

Lucas: There are things I care about more. [ a beat, then softer ] Things I don’t want to mess up.

Although he doesn’t say it, it’s fairly obvious what he’s thinking about. Missy’s not an idiot, and she knows where he stands with Riley. But he’s been willing to play along this long… and given her lack of context and history and how brusque Lucas tends to be around others, it’s unlikely Missy considers Riley much of an issue. But if he wants to continue the game…

Missy: And that’s why it’s a private affair. Hush-hush, just between you and me. There’s no guilt in what people don’t know. And besides, do you want to welcome all the additional trouble you’ll have to contend with if I don’t contribute? I think you’ve already got enough on your plate.

She finishes flattening the bills, placing them gingerly on the edge of the stage next to her. Ready to be his again, should he deem to take them. All of the rage that drove him to confront her has been extinguished, replaced with that cold, cornered feeling he always has when she’s there.

Missy: Focus on the big problems, Lucas. Showdown, your scholarship plans. And once that’s all squared away and the dust has settled… then we can explore what comes next. [ slipping off the stage ] One step at a time.

She passes him without another glance, making her way up the aisles and leaving him on that note. He starts to glance over his shoulder but ultimately doesn’t, not even wanting to look at her anymore. He looks a little sick.

But the money remains, waiting for him. No Missy there to scrutinize him as he takes it, no judgment being cast down on him but his own. He knows his truth. He knows what he cares about, what matters above all else. And money is money… he’s always known that… doesn’t matter where, or who, it comes from…

Lucas hangs stuck in that moment, torn between shame and sense.

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - NIGHT

Long after the final bell of the day has rung, Isadora remains in the dance studio, going over the routine again. It’s usually Zay’s territory at this time of night, but instead of his perfected moves and graceful poise, Isadora is following the steps in almost a robotic manner, and cursing at herself whenever she makes a mistake.

Chai peeks her head around the door, having been practicing herself in another studio and wondering who’s still here. She watches Isadora struggle for a moment before stepping in and pressing pause on the music. Isadora looks over to her in shock. 

Chai: Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. What are you still doing here?

Isadora: What does it look like? Failing miserably at the routine.

Chai sighs in sympathy and shrugs off her sports duffel so that she can help Isadora. Isadora cringes as Chai does a couple of stretches to warm herself up again. 

Isadora: I feel bad. You already spent so long trying to help me and here I am the night before the showcase, as terrible as ever. 

Chai: You’re too hard on yourself. Everyone’s been struggling with the choreo since it changed in such short notice, and for a non-dancer you’re doing well. You remember all the steps, you just need to do them more gracefully.

Chai demonstrates one of the moves that Isadora was trying to do a moment earlier, but when Isadora copies, she doesn’t have the same natural rhythm and movement that Chai does. Chai tries coaching her through it, giving her instructions to twist a bit more, or move her arm like this and that, but it only makes Isadora more frustrated. 

Isadora: We’ve been trying this for days. It isn’t going to work. I’m a lost cause. 

Chai: Nobody is a lost cause. We just have to try something new.

Chai tells Isadora to do the routine again, and starts the music. She walks around Isadora as she dances, scrutinizing every move. At one point when Isadora seems particularly robotic in her movements, Chai reaches out to correct her position on instinct. She freezes when she realizes it might not want to be touched, hands hovering over Isadora’s hips. Isadora looks down at Chai’s hands and halts. 

Chai, shyly: Is this… okay?

Isadora gives a tentative nod. Chai rests her hands lightly on Isadora, and guides her through the movements. Both are quiet and a little tense, an odd tension in the air, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

As they get used to it, they relax and Isadora’s dancing becomes more natural. Once Chai thinks that she’s got it, she takes a step back and lets her hands drift away. She requests Isadora go through it again. This time, Isadora’s moves flow much better and she looks less awkward. Chai smiles brightly. 

Chai: You got it! 

Isadora: Really? 

Chai: Yeah, it’s looking good. Really good. Let's do it again.

Chai steps in line with Isadora, and they start the routine from scratch. That odd tension is still there, but it feels more like tentative excitement than anything else. They glance at each other as they step through moves in the routine, exchanging a smile before spinning in opposite directions.

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

The Haverford boys are wrapping up their last evening rehearsal before Saturday, all of them sweaty and exhausted. Even if they’re got an unfair advantage, they’re not going to skate on it.

What is interesting is that Charlie is nowhere to be seen. Everyone else is accounted for except him, and his absence is noticeable -- particularly on the eve of showdown. Brandon runs through final notes and reminders, then relaxes just a fraction to rally his boys and assure them that victory is all but guaranteed. All there is left to do is go out there and do the damn thing.

Hurrah! The Havies come together as Billy leads a rallying cheer, demonstrating that iron-clad brotherhood once again. They do a final hoot and cheer and disband just as Charlie appears in the wings, hanging back to let them have their moment.

As his classmates pass him, their reception towards him is mixed -- some are casual and friendly, as if nothing is out of the ordinary, while others shoot him dirty looks for his blatant skipping of rehearsal. Billy makes a point of bumping him with his shoulder.

Billy: Way to show up, C.

Charlie takes it all in stride, swallowing his nerves and not reacting. He waits until the rest of the class has cleared out, hovering on the sidelines until there’s nothing left for Brandon to do but address him.

Brandon: I’m assuming, since you deemed to grace me with your presence now, that you have a good reason for missing our last rehearsal before showdown.

There’s his cue. Charlie nods, stepping out of the shadows and joining him on the stage.

Charlie: I’m sorry about that. Just… a personal emergency.

Brandon, unimpressed: It doesn’t reflect well on you, Charles. I admit, I thought you were more reliable than that. [ off his sheepish expression ] But it’s fine, we all have off days. Thankfully we were able to work around you.

Charlie: That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. [ a beat ] If you’ve already figured that out, then you’ll be able to do it without me on Saturday.

Now that, Brandon wasn’t expecting. His eyebrows shoot up. Charlie holds his ground, trying not to wither under his stare and keep his voice even and resolute.

Charlie: Believe me, it’s not my ideal outcome, and I really don’t want to let the team down. You guys have been good to me, really taken me under your wing, and I needed that when I first got here. I don’t want to screw that up.

Brandon: But?

Charlie: But I don’t think I can get up there and compete against Adams. You and the boys deserve to have everyone on the same page, one hundred percent dedicated and focused on the win. And as much as I want to be a part of that, I know in my heart I won’t be able to deliver.

Brandon remains skillfully unreadable, simply listening without giving any of his reactions away. Charlie clears his throat.

Charlie: I like being at Haverford. I like being part of the brotherhood. But part of me will always be with Adams. Those people… they’re my family. And I can’t go against family. [ a beat ] You get that, right?

Considering his commitment to the brotherhood, you’d think he would. Brandon contemplates for a long moment, leaving Charlie nervous and vulnerable in the encroaching silence… one that grows more painful the longer it ticks on...

Then he smiles, suave and unbothered like always.

Brandon: Sure, Charles. I understand completely.

Charlie exhales, managing a relieved smile. He thanks Brandon for being so cool about it, and assures him that he’ll still be there on Saturday to support everyone. But this already feels so much better. He thanks Brandon one more time and then heads out, wishing him luck for the whole team as he goes.

Brandon upholds his pleasant smile until Charlie is gone, granting him an easy wave as he steps out the door. But once he’s out of sight, the charm dissipates. His expression sours, the barbed edges bleeding through his smooth demeanor.

Announcer, pre-lap: Ladies and gentlemen, we’re in for a face-off for the ages!

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - LOBBY - DAY

Saturday. The day of senior showdown. The energy is electric as we move through the elegant space, the same arts and cultural center where the Jacobs Gala was held in 112. It’s grandiose and professional-grade, a sense of the big leagues if there ever was one. It’s like one step below an actual Broadway stage -- think the Dolby Theatre Oscars vibes, or the Kennedy Center.

The place is already buzzing with life, venue officials rushing to and fro to keep things organized and groups from different schools wandering and congregating. Adams and Haverford are only one showdown of many this afternoon, as the announcers explain over the scenery that senior showdown is an annual event that encompasses multiple forms of competitive art and multiple delegations of the cream of the crop. Manhattan is only a piece of the program today -- though admittedly, it’s one of the most anticipated segments of the day.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The announcers say as much, describing that the orchestra showdowns will kick us off, followed by show choir, dance troupe, and a couple of other categories. And then by this afternoon, we’ll dive into the highly awaited performance showdowns, including the two Manhattan elites: Adams Academy for the Arts versus their long-time rivals and reigning six-year champs, Haverford Preparatory Academy. As they wrap up their opening spiel, we get a look at the fancy stage digs they’ll be working with, already filling up with spectators.

What a way to fund the arts. It’s time to showdown!

EXT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

Well, not quite yet time. The A class still has time to spare, and things are much quieter over in the East Village.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LUCAS’S BEDROOM - DAY

Which is where we find Riley and Lucas, picking up a couple of items for showdown that Lucas had been storing for safe-keeping. His shoebox bedroom is remarkably neater than we’ve seen it in the past, all that spring cleaning from last year having paid off. It’s at least decent enough that he’s allowing Riley to be in it -- though the reasoning for that is more likely the lack of a certain someone or something.

Either way, they’re not staying long. Lucas hands the materials to Riley and they head out, discussing how long they think it’ll take to get uptown. Traffic is pretty dastardly today, apparently, especially around the venue.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

They duck out of Lucas’s room and he shuts the door behind him. He tells Riley to give him one second while he grabs one more thing from the closet, jogging out of sight down the tiny hallway. She says no worries, perfectly content to wait on her own and take in every last detail of his home given how rarely she’s allowed inside to see it.

When suddenly the door opens in the entryway. Riley freezes, staring towards the doorway. She braces herself for the worst, completely unsure what might happen or what she should do if he shows up. Worried about what might happen to Lucas…

But it’s not the worst. It’s only GRACE FRIAR, who mirrors Riley’s surprise as she enters the living area and finds her unexpectedly parked in her apartment. She’s dressed for work at the florist, dressed in a worn but pretty floral dress and an evergreen apron, light hair pulled back out of her face.

Riley, uncertainly: Hi.

Lucas reappears in the next instant, having rushed back when he heard the noise. He’s relieved to find it’s only his mother, but barely. He quickly comes to stand at Riley’s side, evidently nervous at this turn of events. It was never part of his plan.

Lucas: Mom. What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t going to be home.

Grace, timid: I swapped shifts with another employee. Since Kenneth is in Jersey for the game, I thought I’d try and see if I could free up my afternoon to see your showdown performance today. [ glancing at Riley ] And I guess I got lucky.

Oh. That’s nice. Lucas wasn’t expecting it, uncertain what to say next. He only figures it out when he realizes how intently Riley and Grace are looking at each other, both fascinated and curious and definitely a bit nervous. He clears his throat, awkwardly scratching his neck.

Lucas: Um, this is Riley. Riley, this is my mom.

Very informative, Lucas. But that’s all Riley needs, and with permission to interact, her bubbly charm does the rest. She steps forward, holding out a hand and offering a sincere smile.

Riley: Hi again. It’s so nice to finally meet you.

Grace: [ accepting her handshake ] Likewise. Unexpected, though… I suppose the best things in life are.

She chuckles anxiously, and Riley does her the favor of laughing along with her. So skilled at making others feel comfortable, like that’s just naturally how she operates.

Grace: I’m sorry I’m so unprepared. If I had known I would’ve… cleaned up, or had something ready to…

Riley: Oh, please, no. Don’t worry about it. I’m the one intruding on you.

Lucas: And we’re just passing through. Picking up a couple things. [ pointedly ] And we should go if we want to beat the traffic --

Grace: Right. Right, of course. Don’t let me get in your way.

Grace quickly steps to the side, an expert at making herself smaller. She skirts around them and gives them easy access to the entryway and a swift exit, wishing both of them luck with showdown. Hopefully she’ll be able to make it down there.

Riley, enthusiastically: You definitely should. It’s going to be an amazing show. And our competition is notoriously tough to beat, so they should at least be enjoyable.

With a pitch like that, how could she say no? Riley should do marketing for the showdown committee. And she could probably find generous ways to keep the conversation going for hours, but Lucas is keen to expedite this escape and gently nudges her towards the door. She gifts Grace one more goodbye before they depart.

Although she wasn’t prepared for it, Grace seems happy with the introduction. A light smile lingers on her face.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - DAY

DONNA BABINEAUX pulls open the front door, finding Nigel and Yindra on the doorstep. Yindra already has her hair and make-up done, looking stellar, and Nigel’s hair is brushed up out of his face. Donna seems unsurprised to see them, stepping back and knowingly nodding towards the stairs.

Donna: He’s in his room. Good luck.

Nigel and Yindra exchange a look.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Zay is far from ready to roll, still wrapped up in his blankets and hunkered down to wallow. His boot rests on the floor at the foot of his bed.

He’s looking at videos on his phone, mainly of the days when he could dance. The semis routine, clips from rehearsals pre-injury, ones he recorded that he ended up using for his applications. Today is the day he’s supposed to be doing all of it, helping elevate Adams to victory.

And that’s not the only thing interspersed throughout his library as he flicks through files. There are videos of him with his friends, too, and the ones he always hovers on longer are the ones of Charlie. Ones that are now almost a year old, like them rehearsing in their usual studio together, goofing off, or where he didn’t even realize Zay was filming. The one he hesitates on longer than the rest involves Charlie laying where he is right now, bashful and uncontrollably giggling while Zay picks on him from off-screen.

It’s all mixed together, all haunting him in different ways, but it doesn’t set him off anymore. There’s no more aggressive fuel compensating for the loss, so now it simply aches. Crazy, how much has changed in so little time… how he has no idea how much of it will change back or inevitably shift again from underneath him…

Yindra and Nigel swing open his door, startling him. He quickly locks his phone and grumbles at them as to what the hell they’re doing.

Zay: Why are you here? You can’t be all the way in Queens when you should be at the venue already.

Yindra: We know. It’s a calculated risk.

Nigel: But if we should be there, we could say the same to you.

Zay huffs, tossing his phone onto the covers and sinking deeper into his bed. They must have miscalculated, because they’re wasting precious time. He’s not performing, so he has no reason to be there like them. He’s not going.

They thought he might say that -- and they’re not taking no for an answer. Not now, on a day that means everything. In a surprisingly feisty move, Nigel leans forward and rips the blankets off him.

Nigel: Get up.

Zay: Yo, what the hell --

Yindra: Damn, Nige.

Zay: What’s your deal? Did you not hear me? There is no reason for me to go. I can’t perform, and sitting there watching what I can’t do doesn’t sound like an exciting afternoon for me. I have nothing to contribute, so why should I bother?

Nigel: Bullshit.

Yindra: Damn, Nige.

Nigel: That’s bullshit, Zay! You know it is. You have contributed plenty to our setlist -- you choreographed an entirely new routine in a week!

Yindra: True.

Nigel: We never would’ve been able to pull that off without you. And we still won’t if you’re not there, because I’m more than positive some of us are going to need refreshers right up until we get on that stage. You know, since again, we picked it up in a week.

Yindra: Also true.

Nigel: And even if that weren’t the case, it shouldn’t matter anyway. You should want to be there because this is it, man. We have worked our butts off for three years to get to this point. And I agree, it sucks that you can’t be up there on dancing it out with us -- you know I think that. But that doesn’t mean you should forgo it all and crawl under a rock to wait it out. This is one of those experiences we’re going to remember forever, and I know you. You don’t want to be the person who missed it all and can’t share in the memories because he didn’t even try. Even if you can’t be on stage yourself, you should want to show up for the rest of us. For Riley, for Yindra. For me. I think you want to, underneath your pride and your self-pity. [ a beat ] And deep down, I think you know that if you tap out and skip it, you’re going to regret it forever.

Wow. It would be a good argument on its own, but since it’s coming from an impassioned Nigel, it’s especially compelling. Yindra stares at her usually laid back, non-confrontational best friend, jaw hanging open slightly.

Yindra, hushed: Damn, Nigel! Where has this been for the last three years?

Yindra shifts her wide eyes to Zay. You’re seeing this too, right? But Nigel doesn’t break, holding Zay’s gaze and continuing the encouragement with his classic Shakespearean smolder.

Finally, Zay relents. He pushes himself forward to the edge of the bed and asks them to hand him his boot, and for Yindra to grab something from his closet for him to throw on. They’re going to have to move fast if they want to get there on time.

Zay: [ as Yindra dashes to his closet ] Pick something fresh!

Yindra, off-screen: You insult me!

Nigel hands him his boot, Zay taking it gratefully. He meets his eyes again.

Zay: Thanks for not leaving me behind.

Nigel, sincere: “To me, fair friend, you never can be old.”

Okay, Bard nerd. But it’s sweet, and the sentiment obviously means a lot to Zay.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - LOBBY - DAY

Eric and Isadora arrive together, the latter in a rush to get backstage. She thanks Eric for driving and promises she’ll see him after the show, and he shouts a good luck after her in return.

Once he’s alone, he scans the room and all the well-dressed patrons mixing and mingling. An usher offers him a program and he takes it cheerfully, but he finally spots who he’s looking for before he can read it.

JACK HUNTER. It’s like he hasn’t been able to find him all week — and this seems like the kind of time where you want your principal to be around. He’s conversing with EVELYN RAND, charming and professional as always.

Eric heads over to join them, friendly but keeping that healthy distance between them after their discussion last week. Evelyn brightens when she sees him approaching, giving him a jolly hello and stating she better be off. Performances to see! But she is wishing the best of luck to them and the delegation from Adams.

Evelyn departs, leaving the two of them alone. They exchange warm greetings, though it’s muted from Jack. They mention all of the stuff they heard about the scramble the A class went through from Lucas and Isadora, noting the stacked odds.

Eric: Well, all we can hope is that they managed to pull it together. They’ve done it before -- I believe they’ll do it again.

Jack: Yeah… yes, me too.

But given his own stacked odds at the moment, Jack’s belief doesn’t seem wholly convincing. Eric clocks his apprehension, the way he feels like a shade of his former self. He steps a little closer, dropping his voice to a murmur.

Eric: Things will work out, Jack. You don’t have to disappear from the equation for things to work out.

Jack doesn’t seem convinced. Eric frowns. He starts to say more, but Jack’s eye has caught HARRISON YANCY across the room, mingling with JEFFERSON DAVIS GRAHAM and other prominent school board members. They cast a glance in his direction, unreadable, holding too much power in their hands.

Jack clears his throat, creating more distance between him and Eric as he starts to retreat.

Jack: Should head on in. I believe Harper saved us a seat. Wouldn’t want to miss our competition’s performance.

Eric glances over his shoulder where Jack was looking, spotting the crowd of conservative board hawks. He scowls, starting to comment, but when he turns back around Jack is already gone.

INT. RILEY’S CAR - DAY

Lucas and Riley arrive around the same time, pulling into a parking spot and killing the engine. Lucas is behind the wheel today, and from how quiet the car is it seems there wasn’t much chatter on the drive over. The two of them sit in the silence for a moment, Riley searching for a way to broach the subject.

Riley: … your mom seems really nice. It’s cool that she wants to come to showdown. You know, maybe we should’ve offered her a ride…

Lucas, quickly: I’m sorry about how I acted. That I like, rushed you out of there.

Riley: It’s okay. I figured it caught everyone by surprise.

Lucas: It’s not that I don’t want you to meet her. Or don’t want her to meet you. I’m not trying to hide you or anything. [ scoffing ] Honestly, if there’s anything in my life worth showing off, I know full well what it is. And it’s not like I think she wouldn’t like you -- I mean, it’s impossible not to.

Riley smiles, bashful. He’s still nervous, keeping his eyes on the keys rather than her, but he pushes through the vulnerability anyway. Really trying.

Lucas: It’s just that… things with them… me and my parents, it’s not… it’s weird. They’ve never -- my mom, she doesn’t even really feel like… it’s more like we’re… I don’t know, roommates rather than blood. Prisonmates, sometimes. [ chuckling awkwardly, then frowning; he just can’t say anything right ] It’s not that I don’t… I know she cares about me. In her way. I just didn’t… it’s hard to explain. It’s all kinda fucked up, and I didn’t want to get you all… tangled into it. [ a beat ] But I don’t want you thinking it’s because of you, because it’s not.

He said more than enough. Riley reaches across the console and gently touches his cheek, waiting for him to meet her eyes.

Riley: It’s okay. I understand. But thank you for telling me.

Lucas nods. She turns the light touch into a caress, stroking her thumb against his cheekbone. He closes his eyes and leans into the gesture.

Riley: She really did seem lovely. Pretty, and super sweet. [ fondly ] I see her in you.

It’s possible no one has ever said that to Lucas before. He processes the compliment, letting it sink in, then manages a shy smile. He takes her hand in his own, pressing a soft kiss to her palm and then linking their fingers together.

They soak in the peace, the kind they can always rely on to find with each other… and they’re going to need it, because it won’t last long inside that venue…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Case in point, backstage it’s a circus as performers scramble to get ready. Isadora is marching through the chaos, back in stage manager mode, trying to account for everybody and figure out what fires are still left to be put out. One of which would be the fact that so many people from their team still aren’t here -- Nigel and Yindra; Jade with the costumes; Farkle; Riley and Lucas.

She shouts amidst the group if anyone has seen any of them. Darby stops mid-jog to the girls dressing room.

Darby: Farkle is already here, I saw him. We were a couple of the first to arrive.

Isadora: And where is he now?

Darby: No idea. But he’s around here somewhere!

Isadora: Perfect. That’s so helpful. Absolutely enlightening information!

Isadora whips around just as Riley and Lucas make their way into the hall. She exhales a dramatic sigh, complimenting them sarcastically for finally making it. At least somebody can roll up when they’re needed. The two of them exchange a yikes look, scooting around Isadora carefully so as not to detonate her further.

Isadora: And where the hell are Nigel and Yindra?!

INT. NIGEL’S CAR - MOVING - DAY

Nigel and Yindra are en route, but “moving” might be a misleading slugline. They’re stuck in that bumper-to-bumper traffic Riley and Lucas were discussing, tensions high as they race to make it to the venue.

Yindra: This is going to give me high blood pressure! Can’t you go any faster, Nigel?

Nigel: GO? GO WHERE, YINDRA? I CAN’T GO FASTER WHEN WE’RE STOPPED.

Zay leans forward between them from the middle backseat, breaking into their bickering to inform them of updates from Riley. They’re transitioning into the performing arts section of the program, which means the clock is ticking down by the second. Yindra and Nigel continue to bicker, volume rising under the stress, until Zay finally smacks Nigel’s shoulder to get his attention.

Nigel: WHAT?

Zay: GREEN LIGHT. CARS MOVING.

Yindra: GO! GO! GO!

Nigel: AHHHHHHHHHHHHH --

Nigel hits the gas, and they’re moving once again --

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - BACKSTAGE - DAY

Riley is concealed in the shadows of the wings, watching nervously as another school from a different league showdown completes their routine. Based on the music playing, they’re going for a more classical repertoire, but Riley seems grateful they don’t have even more competition to be worried about than just Haverford.

She leans forward just enough to peer through the curtain, still hidden but able to glimpse the grand house beyond the stage. It seems like a pretty packed audience, and somewhere out there are the judges who will decide their fate. Their standing against Haverford, the future of Lucas’s scholarship initiative, the spirit of her class… the weight of all the above resting on her shoulders and creating the subtle frown on her face.

Brandon: Nice accommodations, aren’t they?

Riley spins and comes face to face with Brandon. He’s already dressed in his performance attire -- no longer quite as glossy and more refined to contrast AAA’s original shiny style -- but he’s taken the time to double check that everything is right where it needs to be for their setlist… and apparently, to run into her.

Brandon: I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of formally meeting yet, Riley. [ offering a hand ] Brandon Rivas.

She’s not eager to change that, but Riley is socially savvy. She knows how to play things right, so she mirrors his pleasant smile and accepts the handshake.

Riley: Oh, I’ve heard all about you. But I’m sure you already know that.

Brandon: Guilty as charged. There’s not much I don’t know. But it would be hard for me not to know you, considering how often Charles has talked about you. He speaks highly of you, rest assured.

Riley: That I believe. Charlie is a good friend. I wouldn’t expect any less from him.

Brandon: Yes… he is, isn’t he.

They exchange a couple more small talk niceties, including Riley mentioning that she’s heard they were quite impressive at semis. Both of them have their work cut out for them, facing each other. Brandon shrugs humbly, then claims he should go gather the boys. The team on stage is wrapping up, and then they’ve only got 10 minutes to show. But he’s pleased they had the chance to meet.

Brandon: Good to confer leader to leader -- makes for good sportsmanship. I know there are power structures in place at Adams, but to my understanding, it’s you who pulls the strings across the park. The true brains of the operation.

Well, if we’re aiming for good sportsmanship, the Havies are already laps behind. And Riley clearly doesn’t like his tone, what he’s subtly implying about her friends -- including and especially her boyfriend.

But she doesn’t show it, merely sharpening her smile instead.

Riley: I wouldn’t underestimate any of my cohort.

Tell him, Riles! Brandon starts to back off, easing further into the shadows.

Brandon: Break a leg -- though you probably can’t afford many more of those, can you?

Oh, shots are being fired. Riley’s expression twitches, but she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. She releases a pointed exhale once he’s gone, the audience launching into applause behind her indicating that the time to bring it is in fact inching closer and closer…

EXT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - ROOFTOP - DAY

The exterior of the venue is less glamorous but just as stunning as the interior. A beautiful rooftop terrace acts as a place for guests to mingle during intermissions or events, similar to the outer walkways of the Kennedy Center. It provides a gorgeous view of the city stretched out around them, the sky a hazy periwinkle on this chilly early December afternoon.

Farkle seems to be enjoying the cold, though. He’s perched on a bench looking out towards the south of the island, just glimpsing the peak of his building in the financial district. He closes his eyes and inhales deep, absorbing the cold air and letting it cool his nerves. He’s hiding his costume under his coat, but we can see the beginnings of what the aesthetic might be given the stardust-like eyeshadow and eyeliner he’s sporting.

His momentary peace is destroyed when Isadora slams open the door and stomps towards him, hands on hips.

Isadora: There you are! Do you know how stressed I am already attempting to manage everyone before this absolutely convoluted last-minute showdown showcase without you deciding to disappear off the face of the earth? Why the hell are you out here?

A couple of other patrons stare at them, then awkwardly retreat towards the other side of the roof. Theater kids. Farkle glances around them to see if anyone else reacted, then mutters a halfhearted apology. Isadora sighs, unimpressed, but shifts her demeanor to be less threatening (or at least, she tries).

Isadora: What’s going on with you? You haven’t been in your right mind recently and I’m starting to worry. 

Farkle, dryly: Do I even have a right mind to be in? 

Isadora: I’m assuming that’s rhetorical, so I won’t respond. Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it. 

Farkle: Nothing you can do. Or anybody. I’m cursed. This is just something I have to deal with on my own.

Isadora scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

Isadora: You’re being such a little bitch right now. 

Farkle, surprised: Excuse me?

Isadora: You’ve been spaced out for days, you drop out of the showcase, you hide yourself away from everybody. Fine, do what you have to do. But at least tell me why. Don’t just sit there moaning like a crybaby about dealing with it by yourself. If you tell me, then you don’t have to do it alone. Simple. 

Farkle: But there’s nothing you can do to help. Why bother you with my stuff when you’re so stressed already?

With a sigh, Isadora sits down next to him. 

Isadora: You being all depressed and closed off is one of the main things stressing me out, for your information. 

Farkle: [ relenting ] Fine. My therapist told me that I’m bipolar.

And there it is. Out in the open, even if Farkle looks extremely sulky while saying so. Isadora nods at the reveal, not all that surprised. 

Isadora: That makes sense. It was one of the things I suspected you might have. 

Farkle: One of?

Isadora: Oh, I had a whole list of possible diagnoses for you. How are you dealing with it? You don’t seem particularly happy about it.

No kidding. Farkle explains how he’s struggling to grapple with the diagnosis, and how it’s thrown his entire sense of identity into question. Isadora listens to him carefully, nodding along while she thinks. 

Isadora: I get that. When my social worker first told me that she suspected I might be autistic, I hated it. I only knew about autism through Rain Man and Sheldon Cooper, so I wasn’t thrilled. I thought it meant that I was an antisocial freak who could never make friends. But as I learned more about it, the more I like… made sense to myself. It wasn’t just me against the world anymore -- there were other people out there like me, who understood me. 

Farkle: I’ve been researching a lot, but that hasn’t helped. 

Isadora: Have you joined any online communities? Read about it from an actual bipolar person’s perspective?

Farkle admits that he hasn’t, so Isadora suggests that he do that. 

Isadora: I know that right now it’s scary -- like your entire world has changed and you no longer fit into it. But you’re still the same Farkle, and we’re still the same world. Nothing has changed except for a label; a label which will allow you to access resources that will actually help you. 

Farkle: What helped you come to terms with your diagnosis? 

Isadora: Lucas and Riley. I got diagnosed in middle school, and I didn’t really have any friends then. When I started at Triple A, I did a lot of research on how to cope in high school and make friends. It all felt way too forced and awkward, and I was so sure that I would never have any. That because of the way I was, I would also be an outcast. [ a beat as she remembers ] With Lucas, everything happened naturally. We just clicked, and started to spend almost all our time together. 

Farkle, under his breath: Codependency...

Isadora: He made me realize that I could have friends, and that I was enough exactly as I am. Then, sophomore year, Riley came along. I had to make an effort to be friends with her, there was compromise and a lot of learning moments. She helped me whenever I was struggling and didn’t judge me for my mistakes. They both accepted and loved me wholly. [ looking to Farkle ] I accept and love you wholly, Farkle. And I will be here to help you figure it out, I promise.

As Isadora gives him a warm smile, Farkle seems unable to speak. His eyes are glossy, but shining with something else too as he looks at her. He swallows before thanking her.

She stands up and offers him a hand.

Isadora: Will you come downstairs and participate now?

Despite not needing to, Farkle takes Isadora’s hand to help pull him up. Isadora lets go as soon as he’s up, but he’ll take it. As the bouncy and energetic percussion of “Seize the Day” slowly grows louder from below…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Haverford is running through the tail-end of their opening number, giving an excellent show already. Considering Brandon gifted Charlie the opportunity to take the solo in the first place, he steps back into it effortlessly, so it’s not as though they’re completely hobbled without him. Still, the dancing isn’t quite as precise, not exactly as compelling, and Brandon lacks his earnest spark that left such an impression the first time around.

But they’re not at all out of the race. They’re still intimidating competition to be up against, and they’re leaving nothing to chance. The applause is effusive as the lights dim and they wrap up the Newsies number, quickly rearranging formation to get ready for the next one.

This is when Charlie makes his entrance, quietly moving through the house and finding a couple free seats in the back center section. He settles into a spot just as Haverford is beginning their second, new number, the lights brightening again.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Sherry” as performed by Franki Valli & The Four Seasons || Performed by Haverford Seniors

Dweezil starts us off front and center, the rest of the boys standing in formation behind him as the jaunty, rhythmic orchestration kicks off. He takes the lead due to his impressive falsetto, and when he starts to step along in some simple movements to the beat, the boys layer in on the harmonies and echo his movements. It creates that same chilling, enchanting effect they showed us from their first performance in 301, the sensation of watching a machine in perfect sync.

And Brandon’s strategic adjustment of their setlist is on full display with their new choice. It’s indisputably classic, a callback to different times and classier days, which is a major deviation from AAA’s original contemporary setlist. The simple choreography allows them to emphasize their well-oiled machine feature, and the choice shows off their harmonies and vocal range just as much if not better than another pop hit from PRETTYMUCH.

It’s impossible not to tap your foot along, and without a doubt will butter up the older judges who feel rosy about that era. Say what you want about Brandon, but there’s no denying the man thinks of everything.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - PARKING GARAGE - DAY

Nigel, Yindra, and Zay finally arrive, wasting no time in hopping out of the car and booking it. Nigel freezes halfway around the front, eyes wide, while Zay scrambles to get out of the backseat with one good foot.

Nigel: Pass. I need a pass. Where do I get a pass?

Yindra: [ slamming the car door ] No time!

Nigel: I need a pass or I’m gonna get a ticket!

Yindra: THEN GET A TICKET.

Nigel lets out another exasperated yell, hoping for the best and starting to sprint after Yindra. Zay tries to hobble after them, but he’s not nearly fast enough.

Zay: Um, guys --

Nigel: Zay --

Zay: No, it’s fine. I’ll make it eventually. Go on without me. Save yourselves.

Nigel: I swear, damn Shakespearean tragedy in this trio --

Yindra glances between them, then back at Zay, conflicted. But she doesn’t want to leave him behind…

Yindra: Oh, for fuck’s sake.

EXT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - DAY

The three of them emerge from the garage and make for the steps up to the main entrance, Yindra now carrying Zay piggyback style while Nigel takes the lead. He makes it to the top of the steps, shouting for them to hurry up.

Yindra: Excuse me, you’re not the one carrying another person! No, I had to because of your frail vegetarian bones!

Nigel: Vegetarianism has nothing to do with your bones, in fact studies show it improves --

Yindra/Zay: NOT NOW.

Zay: Go, go, go!

Nigel holds open the door for them to zoom past, diving in after them.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The A class has assembled in the dressing room together while the Havies finish their set. They’re mostly all dressed up and ready to go, though it’s obvious elements of their costumes are missing.

The girls are dressed in shimmery leotards with intricate detailing on the bodices,  alternating in either silver or gold, and lower halves that are closer to shorts than an actual leotards would be. The only exception is Yindra’s, still hanging on the rack, which is ruby red. They also vary in sleeve length, some closer to tanks while others have long sleeves similar to this. The boys are dressed in red dress shirts that appear to match the design of the leotards, but they’re currently concealed under sleek but breathable black suit jackets, and their pants are silky and alternate in either silver or gold.

On top of traditional stage makeup, the girls also have a bit of rouge to accent the color scheme and bright red lips. Every single one of the performers has shimmery gold eyeshadow accenting their eyeliner, and Darby and Chai are taking careful care to give each of them a sprinkling of crimson rhinestones just around the corners of their eyes.

Riley is just finishing up pinning her hair, styled so it’s tumbling stylishly over one shoulder but will hold. She’s been trying to keep it cool all afternoon but the nerves are starting to creep up on her now -- especially since once again so many of them are missing down to the wire. Maybe they won’t be able to pull it together in the nick of time after all…

Isadora is also feeling the pressure, marching back into the dressing room with Farkle in tow. Her tenderness from that conversation is long gone. Darby gestures Farkle over to get his crimson added, while Isadora threatens to implode over the fact that certain people still aren’t here. Are they trying to send her into cardiac arrest? Maya raises her eyebrows from where she’s volumizing her award-winning golden locks, fussing it up with her hands to give it that starkissed quality.

Maya: Wow. Is that what I sound like?

Yogi: Most of the time, yes.

Maya: Well. Happy to hear I sound like a passionate, intense woman with vision.

Chai tries to calm Isadora, tentatively reaching out and patting her shoulder. Isadora allows the touch, willing to take serenity from any source right now.

Sarah, Missy, and Nate all rush into the room at the same time, claiming that they’ve bought them a little more time. Sarah says she complained to one of the stage managers so much about something nitpicky that they almost started crying, so now they’re pausing to fix it; Nate straight up just stole one of the announcers microphones and hid it so now they’re stalling to look for it. And Missy paid off one of the stagehands to get the crowd to do a 7th-inning style stretch like in baseball, just for theater nerds.

Darby: Seriously? I didn’t think they’d go with something silly like that.

Missy: When someone slides over a few hundreds, people will do anything.

Maybe so. If it buys them even a few more minutes before they have to get ready to hit their marks, so be it.

Thankfully, the cavalry rolls up just in time. Nigel and Yindra race through the doors, everyone exclaiming palpable relief. Yindra waves them all off and immediately grabs her leotard to start changing, wondering if they’ve gotten the rest of their costumes yet. Zay limps in a few moments later, everyone greeting him cheerfully in spite of their anxieties.

Riley slides over and pulls him into a tight hug.

Riley: I’m so glad you came.

Zay: Yeah, well, I’ve got good friends and am attracting wake-up calls like a magnet these days. Honestly, if this one could be the last one for a while, I’d appreciate it.

With that, Zay wishes all of them the best of luck, assuring them he’ll be out there cheering them on. They cheer him off, then frantically go back to pulling themselves together.

The last missing link swoops in just as Zay disappears, Jade entering to great fanfare with Dave, Jeff, and Lucas on her heels. They’re carrying the last remaining costume pieces, basically hot off the sewing machine, Jade holding a pretty-looking gauzy fabric in her arms while the boys are holding bulkier items.

Jade: Okay, now we’re ready to roll.

Riley, in awe: Jade, you are a genius.

All of them gleefully commend Jade for her hard work, swarming the boys to get their last costume piece -- for the girls, blazers similar to the ones the boys already have. But they’re glossy silver and gold, at least as far as we can see. Nigel is staring at Jade, mouth parted open, once again struck by how she manages to pull off the impossible.

Jade: Make sure you’re picking one that matches your leotard, and remember when you do the reverse to move gently, even though you’re moving fast. These are durable, but you don’t want to risk tearing it apart in the middle of the set.

Then Jade gestures Yindra forward, handing off the last piece to her. She tells her how to put it on and fasten it correctly, and also how to remove it correctly while still allowing for showy flair. But she knows she can handle it -- and it was custom-made for her, so.

Yindra: My very own Jade Beamon original. [ with a grin ] Coveted rite of diva passage.

Jade beams. But their nice moment is interrupted -- and from a very uncommon source of interruption, at that.

Nigel, boldly: Jade.

She jumps lightly, swiveling to find him. Yindra makes a face, stepping back a bit, and it’s like the seas part for them to be able to see each other. The entire A class goes silent -- a rare feat -- watching the interaction with rapt interest.

Jade: … yes?

Well, he’s done it now. Now is the moment to say what he needs to say -- if he fumbles it now, he may not ever get the frenzied courage to speak again. He takes a deep breath, holding her gaze, speaking confidently even though he’s breathless.

Nigel: You are the most incredible person I’ve ever met.

Jade has stopped breathing, standing like a deer in headlights at the center of the room. She knows all eyes are on her, and that shy part of her core is quaking… but there’s a hopeful gleam in her eyes, too. An electricity that doesn’t let her look away, doesn’t let her even think about escape. And she doesn’t want to anyway. This moment is something she’s daydreamed about since she was fourteen... is it finally actually happening…

Jade: … yeah?

Nigel: Yes. You outshine everything else. You never cease to amaze me, you consistently pull off the impossible. You’re insanely talented, and yet you’re one of the most down-to-earth people I know. I like down-to-earth.

With each statement, Nigel slowly closes the distance between them, coming to join her at the center. She doesn’t stop him, not able to do anything but keep looking at him.

Nigel: I like you.

Jade: Oh.

Nigel: And I know I’m quiet, and hesitant, and don’t usually speak my mind. I’ve been distracted, and clueless, and some have even called me a chickenshit.

Yindra, quietly: Well, we don’t need to bring that up right now...

Nigel: I know all that, and I know it hurt you. It made you unsure, and I completely get that. But I’m not distracted now. I’ve got a clue. And I’m not scared anymore.

He’s right in front of her now, only a bit of space between them. Jade gazes up at him, holding her ground, but that hopeful gleam has spread into an aura. It’s bouncing between them, it’s filling up the room.

Nigel, softly: And I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being quiet --

Jade: … I like quiet…

Nigel: But I’m speaking up now. I’ll speak as loud as I need to make sure you hear it. I like you. I like you, Jade Beamon. And if you’re not too busy being the incredible woman you are… I’d like to take you on a date.

Whew! The class is holding their breath, riveted like it’s their very own TV show, waiting to see what happens next. There’s a pause, a beat of uncertainty where we don’t know what direction things are going to go… and then Jade breaks into a smile.

Jade: Yeah. [ nodding eagerly ] Yeah, okay, I’d like that.

VICTORY! Not the main one of the evening, but a victory nonetheless. Nigel mirrors her smile, obviously relieved, as the Yogi starts an uproarious clap that the rest of the class echoes. Once they’ve just a few moments to soak it in, Lucas clears his throat.

Lucas: This is nice, and everything, but is it really the best time…

Nigel snaps his head to look at him, smile dropping. His expression is incredulous.

Nigel: Are you kidding me? For real? As if you all haven’t been making dramatic scenes and making everything about you for the last three years?!

Maya: Well.

Nigel: But no, I make one statement one time --

Yindra, to Darby: I swear, whatever Nigel is on today, I want some of it.

His (perhaps righteous) tirade towards the mains is cut short, though, an usher popping his head in and explaining that they finally found that missing microphone. So they should be backstage for places in about five minutes and counting.

That’s one way to get everyone back on track. Lucas tells Dave and Nate to go head backstage, the two of them exchanging quick bro hugs with Dylan, Asher, and Jeff and wishing them luck before they zoom off. Lucas takes one last second to reach Riley, taking her hand and accepting the brief kiss she gives him automatically. They keep their foreheads pressed together, pretending for an instant amidst the chaos that it’s just the two of them.

Lucas: You look amazing. You’re going to kill this thing.

Riley: Ditto. [ breathy ] I love you.

Lucas nods, opening his mouth as if he’s going to respond. Like he’s going to say it back, like it’s right on the tip of his tongue… but it doesn’t come. Not yet. He kisses her again instead, pointedly, then he pulls away and dashes out after Nate and Dave. Missy eyes him as he goes, expression hard to read.

Riley takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it go, and spins to rally the troops together. She gathers them in a circle and Maya leads them in an empowering but kickass -- and classically Maya -- pep talk to hype them up. Then Dylan takes the lead, putting his hand in the middle. The rest of them follow without hesitation, and he leads them in the war-cry pump-up ritual he usually  leads the techies in before shows. Let’s go, Triple A. Let’s go, Triple A. LET’S GO, TRIPLE A --

Then they throw their arms in the air, full to bursting with infectious energy as they look towards the ceiling -- or in this case, at us, looking down on them from above.

LET’S GO!

Break 2.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - LOBBY - DAY

A couple of light dings and the venue lights dimming and rising indicate to those mingling outside that the intermission between competitors is nearing its end. Charlie finishes the cup of water he was drinking, tossing it into the recycling and turning to head back towards the auditorium -- when he locks eyes with Zay, also slowly making his way in that direction from the dressing room hall. Charlie approaches uncertainly.

Charlie: Hi.

Zay, awkwardly: Hey. [ eyeing his plain clothes ] What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be backstage, embroiled in a post-performance high?

Charlie: [ with a nervous laugh ] Actually, no. I chose not to perform.

Zay raises his eyebrows, surprised. His non-answer begs for further explanation, though, so Charlie shyly elaborates.

Charlie: It just didn’t feel right. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun, getting to be front and center for a time. Try something new. But going up against you all… I don’t know. Just didn’t feel like me.

Zay: I bet nefarious factors behind the scenes didn’t improve that feeling either.

Charlie: No, yeah… yeah, that didn’t help. [ with a shrug ] Oh well. Just one performance, right? No big deal.

But it is. It’s one of the biggest deals of the year, and they both know it. Charlie sacrificed his chance to be a part of it, and risked a lot more in telling them the truth so they could save their routine -- and yet, that doesn’t feel out of character for him at all. Zay knows all too well.

Zay: Well, at least you didn’t fully turn yourself over to the dark side. [ off his amused head shake ] I guess it’s nice to hear that even with all the other changes, you’ve managed to remember who you are.

Charlie: … maybe, yeah. But thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.

He should know, as perhaps the only person who ever really knew him in the first place. The sentiment lingers between them, trapping them back in that uncertain space of not knowing exactly where they stand. It looks like Charlie wants to say more, but the intercom dings again, signaling that Adams’ performance is imminent.

Charlie: It’s great you could be here to support them, though. Even though you can’t perform yourself. [ a beat ] I’ve got a seat open next to me… you know, if you haven’t settled anywhere yet.

Another beat of hesitancy… and then Zay nods.

Zay: Since the rest of my crew is a little busy… yeah. That’d be cool.

Just the right amount of arrogance and graciousness, and a perfect dose of Zay. Charlie smiles instinctively, the two of them heading towards the doors together.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The lights dim, the announcer introducing Adams Academy of the Arts as the next showcase. The curtain is closed, and behind it the performers are heading to their places. Dave, Nate, and Jade, dressed in all black, are gearing up their rolling flats backstage for when they’re needed. A few rows of steps have been installed in the back leading to a high point where a doorway disappears to backstage, but nearly all of the A class is arranged in windows in front of it on the stage. They’re facing away from the audience, which is nice, because it gives them the chance to steel themselves before the number truly kicks off and the games begin.

Riley weaves through her classmates, wishing them all good luck as she finds her place on the stage. And just in the nick of time, as the announcers are just wrapping up their summary of their team and passing them the floor.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Lucas is up in the booth, headset on, fitting in surprisingly well with the rest of the professional technicians working the event. He’s on the lighting board, sound levels a reach away, and the other workers give him a wide berth to do whatever he needs to do. His glare is determined.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

So, without further ado… Riley takes a deep breath, centering herself. The curtain rises...

It’s now or never. The time has finally come for Adams to showcase everything they’ve got -- and they are going to damn well try.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “There She Goes! / Fame” as performed by Fame - The Musical Original Cast || Performed by Yindra Amino (feat. AAA Seniors)

We’ve heard this track before, back in Maya’s dream sequence, but it’s got a new coat of paint and we’re turning the volume up to eleven. Yindra appears at the top of the stairs to kick off the vocals, the A class still theatrically turned towards her. Her full costume is now apparent, the final piece a sheer gauzy red dress wrap, similar to what Taylor Swift wore on her reputation Tour. It’s vibrant and saucy, perfect to swish and flick as Yindra steals the show.

About thirty seconds in she begins her descent down the stairs, Dylan and Jeff jogging up the steps to meet her and guide her down. When they get close to the bottom, they lift her by the arms and do a spin, placing back down as the A class parts to let her through. She makes it through the class and playfully flirts with most of them as she goes, matching the tone of the number effortlessly. She makes it back to the steps just in time for the belt before the dance break, lifting her arms to the sky and swinging her hips.

Everything is beautiful up here in the clouds!

Then we jump into the dance, really allowing the A class to take flight. They sharply in unison, demonstrating only the first tastes of Zay’s savvy choreography. Yindra makes it back to the front to lead the pack when they get to the chorus (“Fame! I wanna live forever…”)

Then an unexpected soloist takes over when we switch into Spanish, Asher jumping to the front and channeling diva. He’s the only boy with his suit jacket unbuttoned, letting more red bleed through and also helping him stand out. The reason he can stomach taking on the challenge is clear with Dylan right behind him, acting as his dance partner and taking center stage with him when they shift to the salsa bit at 2:20. The rest of the A class has paired off too, including Haley & Clarissa, Jeff & Yindra, Isadora & Chai, and Farkle & Riley.

Asher delivers a killer vocal run, and it appears he has been doing his stretches since “If I Didn’t Have You” in 302, because this time when Dylan dips him at the transition, they nail it perfectly.

Then the dance truly takes over, the front of the stage clearing for solo dance moments to take spotlight. This starts with Haley, doing a few ballet moves, and then passes to other classmates -- Chai, Maya with a dazzling split and leg kick. But the true star of the dance break is Jeff, bringing those promised break dance moves and earning cheers from the audience. Then he and Yindra dance together for the remainder of the break, making impressive salsa partners and definitely fulfilling a daydream for her little lesbian crush on him.

As the dance break winds down, Yindra makes her way back up the steps, the boys chasing her up, so that when she starts again on the pre-chorus (“I’m on top of the charts…”), she can lean on them effortlessly. She slides across Dylan’s shoulders and then leans into a lift, Dylan, Farkle, Nigel, and Yogi holding her sideways across them and bringing her back down to the stage. On the next line (“I’m on top in their hearts…”), the boys rotate her around before depositing her front and center stage again.

As she launches into the final chorus at about 3:45, Yindra backs into dead center as her classmates weave in circles around her, the vocals and energy building in intensity. The lights glow from their rosy, warm hues and transition closer and closer to red. On the last line, Yindra gives it her all, allowing Dylan and Nigel to lift her up onto their shoulders high above the rest as she throws her arms up in a final declarative diva pose.

Remember my name!

The lights turn blood red, casting the A class in shadow. The resounding applause is well earned. Zay and Charlie are on the edge of their seats, clapping enthusiastically. Assuming correctly that that was the dance standout of the set, Charlie braves nudging Zay with his elbow, which he glances at and then smiles in return.

Backstage, though, Haverford seems less pleased. This is not at all what they saw from semis. Brandon glowers with his arms crossed, Billy shaking his head in frustration behind him.

On stage, the A class works quickly in the brief transition. Nigel strips off his suit jacket and hands it to Yindra, who has just stripped off her sheer dress and is now down to her ruby leotard that otherwise matches her peers. She slips on the jacket while the other A class girls take theirs off and flip them inside out, now also black like the boys. Nate darts on stage to grab the discarded dress and then all the boys disperse, leaving just the A class girls on stage in a line with their heads downcast. The anticipation builds…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “The Man” as performed by Taylor Swift || Performed by AAA Senior Ladies

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

Maya brings the setlist back to life, tilting her chin up and launching into the first verse. She moves sharply but fluidly, reanimating each of her fellow girls as she struts and spins past them along the front of the stage. When she reaches the end and spots Brandon scowling in the wings, she gives him a cocky little head tilt, flipping her hair as she spins back around.

Every conquest I made would make me more of a boss to you

Riley takes over from there as the “fearless leader,” and from there it’s a strong, upbeat showing from the senior A class women. Each one has a solo, as indicated by the lyric sheet, and the choreography is simple but effective. Their reversible blazers show off Jade’s creative costuming as well as echo the presence of the boys in the previous number, driving home the theme.

Brandon isn’t the only one who can strategize a setlist. With this female-dominated interlude, Adams not only showcases one of the biggest assets they have against Haverford -- women -- they essentially get a fun musical fuck-you towards them out of it too.

All the girls come together for the end of the number, creating a sisterhood-type formation with their arms around each other and at varying levels -- crouching, standing straight, etc. -- while Maya stands front center. She delivers the airy final lyrics, a teasing smile on her lips as she smirks at the audience.

If I was a man… then I’d be the man…

The lights dim again, darkening the stage for transition into the final number in AAA’s setlist. Eric glances to his program, eyes widening in surprise. He elbows Harper and leans over to talk to both her and Jack.

Eric: They did everything for this by themselves?

Harper nods proudly. That’s right! And as for why Eric is so surprised, we’re about to find out. This is the time to make a lasting impression… as the lights rise on Adams’ final number…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Bellas Finals Mash Up” as performed by Pitch Perfect Original Cast || Performed by AAA Seniors

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

Okay, quick disclaimer. The mash-up performed here is not the same arrangement as the Barden Bellas. But we aren’t mash-up creators, nor would we ever pretend to be (I only write fake lyrics on TV), and this performance has the perfect ebb and flow of how we envision the A class’s final track unfolds. So while we’re providing a lyric sheet and encouraging you to listen to the song to get immersed in what the performance would feel like, keep in mind that it wouldn’t be the exact same songs and arrangement.

But it is impressive, because for the A class mash-up, they put it together all on their own. Farkle, Nate, and Clarissa wrote and arranged the conglomeration of songs, and they made it a capella for easier preparation. So it’s nothing but high energy and the A class harmonizing powerfully throughout -- putting a dent in Haverford’s usual boast of having mastery of harmonies unlike anyone else.

The A class starts demurely on stage, back in group formation, Nigel at the front to kick us off. His smooth, unassuming tenor is perfect for the gentle opening, easing the crowd back into the music before the performance erupts in a burst of sound, movement, and energy. All of them strip off their suit jackets and toss them aside, Yogi energetically taking over the next part of the mash-up with more of a rap-like, fast-paced cadence. With the suit jackets gone, Jade’s designs finally shine at full power -- intricate and mesmerizing design on both the leotards and dress shirts, each one the slightest bit unique yet a united aesthetic, creating a shimmering, captivating visual like firelight as they move and dance. Behind them, Nate and Dave inconspicuously but groovily swoop and grab all of the discarded jackets that didn’t make it backstage, both not meant to be noticed and yet seamlessly a part of the performance.

As the mash-up transitions into a more thoughtful ballad type -- though that infectious engine is still running underneath it all -- Riley takes the reins, bringing her usual level of enchantment as she moves along to the beat and weaves around her classmates, dancing with each of them.

When she makes it back to the front for the pseudo-bridge (“As you walk on by… will you call my name…”) and the A class moves into a new triangle formation behind her, she raises her gaze upward and towards the booth. Even though she can’t see him through the lights…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

The intent behind the moment is clear. She’s looking to Lucas, a secret message shared between the two of them. A small smile blooms on his face, and he reaches for a slider…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And the spotlight on Riley brightens, just enough that she’d notice. Her smile widens, already dazzling in show business mode, and she launches into the choreography at the tail-end of her segment around about 1:40 with deeper enthusiasm than ever. Her classmates back her up, all of them moving in unison until they swap numbers again, Isadora taking over.

Then Chai jumps in, having a trio moment at the front with Darby and Sarah as they slide through their section of the mash-up. Then Jeff pipes up, doing an AMBITION first as he raps on the next bit with Yogi backing him up. Farkle theatrically pushes between both of them to take his solo (the Rebel Wilson one, though he sings it a lot less… oddly than she does), seemingly back in shape diva wise at least for this one slice of performance. He and Isadora pass the vocal runs back and forth, spinning around each other and half-dancing together, backing away from each other as the build to the final act comes to fruition.

Then Maya’s vocals pull out all the stops, up on the steps while Riley heads the front of the formation below. Dylan and Asher are right behind her as right and left hand -- until Dylan breaks rank to really bring the house down, running into a front flip across the stage. He pops upright, winks at the audience, then cartwheels and back handsprings the other way, before returning to his place for the last hurrah.

The audience is fully enthralled, on their feet and clapping along. Eric, Jack, and Harper can’t hold back their grins, pride shining in their eyes. Even Shawn seems genuinely impressed -- Angela wipes tears from her eyes. In the back, Charlie and Zay are basically dancing along as much as they can, cheering and clapping and both looking happier than they have in weeks.

And with that, there’s nothing to do but bring it on home. The A class delivers the final segment with everything they’ve got -- well-trained harmonies, dynamite energy, and their signature charm of lovable underdogs with nothing to lose.

With the last couple of lines they break formation and return back to the places they started at the very beginning of the setlist, stomping in unison and hitting their final marks. Then they spin and drop their heads down as the stage lights go out, back where they started. As if they could wind up and do it all over again, just as spectacularly, in a New York minute. Like it’s easy.

But it’s not. We know how hard it is -- we know how hard they worked. And they did it. Somehow, regardless of what happens next, they did it.

The curtain lowers, nearly the whole house on their feet to give them thunderous applause.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The A class is celebrating and destressing in the dressing room, all buzzing with post-performance hype and the rush of a great show. Farkle and Maya stand together and hug each other tight, the latter clinging to him like an emotional support beanpole.

Farkle: Doesn’t matter now, does it? All that matters is we did a good job and had fun, right? Or whatever people say.

Maya: Screw that. If we don’t win, I’m burning this motherfucker down.

Zay and Charlie poke their heads in, earning uproarious reactions from all of them. Haley and Clarissa immediately rush to tackle Charlie with hugs, while Zay is swarmed with cheers and praise for his choreography. It all turned out fantastic!

Yindra: Not that there was ever any doubt.

Charlie finds a moment to get a word in, stating that he needs to go congratulate Haverford and check in with them, but he wanted to be able to tell them all the same. They were spectacular, and it was so awesome to get to see it. They all thank him, and there's this clear sense in the air that he should’ve been there with him. He belonged up there with them.

But alas. Charlie makes his exit just as the techies return, and he gives them compliments as well as they pass. Jade is also quickly laden with praise -- her costumes were perfect and definitely stole the show. Nate and Dave ambush Dylan, Asher, and Jeff, pulling them into a giant glom hug and losing their shit about how epic they were. Like, Jeff! Your dancing! And Asher, your Spanish!

Nate: I didn’t even realize you were part Latino.

Asher: … wait, seriously?

Dave: [ shaking Dylan’s shoulders happily ] And when you did the flip! And the backward flip!

Isadora watches them fondly, shaking her head, only looking away when she’s tapped on the shoulder. Chai is there, offering her a timid congratulations. They did it! And she did an amazing job with her solos.

Well, with all the extra hours she put in for her dancing… in a sudden move, Isadora reaches out and pulls Chai into a hug. Brief, but more than she allows or gives most people. It’s interesting, actually, how Chai manages to get her to do most things without thinking. Like a brashness she just brings out in her, or something.

But Chai doesn’t seem at all opposed. She’s surprised only for a moment, then she lightly returns the embrace, trying not to push it too far. When they pull away, Isadora’s touch lingers a bit longer than usual, like she isn’t sure what to do with her hands all the sudden.

Isadora: I couldn’t have joined and caught up without you, so. If I contribute at all to a victory, then it’s your contribution too.

Chai: In that case, I think we can call it a draw. [ off her confused look ] Without your friendship I wouldn’t have adjusted to coming back very well, or probably even thought to consider telling the A class about… you know, before it was almost forced out of me. And who knows where I’d be if all that were the case… anyway, I’m grateful. Funny how the most unexpected people change your life, huh?

Isadora: Yeah… it actually is.

Chai smiles, Isadora tentatively mirroring it.

Speaking of people who unexpectedly change everything… Lucas makes his way over to Riley, the latter brightening instantly when she sees him. She gives him a tight hug, and he lifts her off her feet momentarily before they break apart.

Riley: We pulled it off.

Lucas: If we manage to cinch this, you realize it’s all because of you, right? That entire thing, that was all you.

Riley, touched: … it was a team effort. But I suppose it won’t really mean much until we know.

Which could be any minute now… Riley touches his arm, getting his attention again.

Riley: I just want you to know I’m proud of you. No matter what happens with showdown.

Lucas: Again, it didn’t have much to do with me --

Riley: I’m not just talking about today. I’m talking about how you ran for president in spite of the odds, your initiative to make real change, how dedicated you are to putting them in motion. At Adams, but on your own. I know how far-off college and stuff felt to you during the summer, and now you’ve got submitted applications and new goals and a whole new future ahead of you. Not even new, but -- you’re finally seeing it, that potential that has always been there. I know that’s not nothing. I know how hard that was. But you did it. And even though it’s all stuff I knew you were capable of, every day you continue to blow me away. [ a beat ] It’s so good to see you starting to believe it too.

Wow. A lot to process, a lot of warm sentiment he wants to really take in and commit to memory forever. It’s difficult enough to process it, there’s no words in the world for him to respond with, so he settles for a smile and taking her hand instead. Lacing their fingers together, bonding them regardless of what might happen next.

Them against the world. Riley beams, squeezing his hand in return.

Perfect timing, too, because the time has come. A stagehand pops in and informs them it’s time for the announcement of the winners, beckoning them all onto stage. Yindra insists to Zay that he come with them for this -- he deserves to be up there just as much as they do.

Silence hangs over us as they head out…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - BACKSTAGE HALL - DAY

The intrusive quiet follows as the A class makes their way through the backstage area, arriving back at the wings. All the anticipation of this final result building on our shoulders…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The announcers are teeing up the big final reveal as the A class files out, Haverford populating the other side, but it’s all muffled and quiet around us. Brandon and Maya exchange a sharp glare. Yindra and Nigel each keep one of Zay’s arms around their shoulders, holding him steady as they take the stage. Lucas, Dave, Nate, and Jade hang back in the wings, Dave wrapping Jade in a hug from behind and propping his chin on her head.

Evelyn has joined us for the final reveal, the guest announcer who gets the distinct privilege as head of the school board to announce the victor. And what an honor it is! She gives a little speech about how it’s so clear both groups worked hard, put in the time and the effort, and have more than enough talent to spare. But alas, only one can win.

Evelyn: So let’s get to what you’re all waiting for -- the results. Without further ado, the winner of the 2020 Senior Showdown: Manhattan is…

It’s the most excruciating wait in the world. Zay clasps Riley’s shoulder from behind, squeezing tight. Haley links her arm tight with Clarissa’s and closes her eyes; Asher hides behind Dylan and tucks his head against his back, their hands clasped together. Maya reaches to take Farkle and Isadora’s hands, flanked on either side of her.

In the audience, Harper grips both Jack and Eric’s arms, all of them on the edge of their seats. Charlie is alone in the back but rapt with attention, hands clasped together in front of his mouth. He’s holding his breath, a prayer shining in his eyes -- but who he’s directing those wishes towards, it’s impossible to say…

And then in a moment, it’s done.

Evelyn: Congratulations to the talented seniors of Adams Academy for the Arts!

The chaos is instantaneous. The audience erupts into cheer as the A class breaks free from their paralysis, bursting into joyful hysteria. The Adams faculty leap out of their seats with equal elation, relieved and overwhelmed with pride. Now Angela isn’t the only one crying -- Eric and Harper have joined her with their own tears. Charlie applauds wildly, shouting out a cheer.

But nothing can compare to the mood within the class. It’s impossible to describe. Dylan picks up Asher and spins him around. Riley whips around and rams into Zay to hug him, shaking with excitement. Nigel runs off stage and pulls Jade out to join them, grasping her hand the entire time, and Dave and Nate eagerly follow. Darby, Chai, and Sarah jump in a hug together, and Yogi does a victory yodel.

Farkle pulls Isadora and Maya to him in a bone-crushing hug, before releasing the latter to go accept the trophy for Adams from the announcers. She faux graciously accepts the trophy and then turns to have a good, old-fashioned “good game” handshake with Brandon. They appear pleasant enough to the audience, but their grip on each other is vice tight.

Then the humility is over, the Haverford boys retreat, and Maya holds up the trophy for them all to see. VICTORY, BITCHES! They all swarm to center stage to meet her and it, dizzy with their change in fortune.

Except Riley. She heads in the opposite direction, marching into the wings straight for Lucas. She doesn’t hesitate the moment she reaches him, pulling him into a deep, enthusiastic kiss. Lucas returns it, too lost in the euphoria for a moment to be self-conscious, gripping her waist to keep her steady and pull her closer.

An undeniably beautiful moment -- save for the way Missy eyes it disdainfully from amidst the celebrating circle of her peers.

But even her potential jealousy can’t spoil the mood. They did it -- Adams Academy are the champions of senior showdown.

EXT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - NIGHT

Night has descended upon them over the course of the event, the driveway and streets around the venue bright with headlights as ride shares and drivers make their way home.

Charlie is standing in the cold evening air, hands stuffed in his pockets and breath creating steam in front of him. He perks up when he spots who he’s waiting for, Brandon emerging from the building and descending the steps. His expression is grim in the wake of Haverford’s loss, and it doesn’t bounce back to its usual crisp confidence quite so effortlessly when he finds Charlie at the bottom of the steps.

Brandon: Charles. Don’t see any reason for you to be hanging around this late -- considering you weren’t a participant.

Charlie: Yeah, I know. I just wanted… I was hoping to catch you before you left. You weren’t in the room when I caught up with the boys before the results, so…

So. Brandon grants him a moment, standing opposite him and raising his eyebrows. Go on. Charlie clears his throat.

Charlie: I wanted to say how great I thought you guys were. You killed the set. And “Sherry” was a great choice. I’m sorry I doubted it.

Brandon: Not good enough, apparently. But thank you.

Charlie: … it’s okay that you didn’t win. I hope you know that. Six years is a heavy burden to carry on your shoulders. At least now you’re free of it, right?

Brandon: I suppose that’s one way to look at ending a proud tradition every senior class before you has pulled off seamlessly. Though I can’t deny the A class gave an impressive showing. [ a beat ] Interesting, how they completely reset their entire performance. It was nothing like what I’d heard about it.

Oop. For just an instant, Charlie panics, but he recovers quickly.

Charlie: Yeah, well, Riley told me they just felt like they needed to switch things up. Get a fresh start, you know? Kind of like your thinking with “Sherry.” Safe doesn’t win showdown, right?

Brandon: [ not buying it ] Sure.

Either way, Charlie thinks they did well, and they have nothing to be ashamed of for not winning. He’ll do his best to try and bolster spirits on Monday. A charming offer, one which Brandon merely nods to acknowledge. For now, at least in the immediate aftermath of stinging failure, the new kid warmth he displayed towards Charlie is long gone.

Still, he can’t relinquish having the last word. After Charlie bids him goodnight and starts down the sidewalk, Brandon suddenly calls after him.

Brandon: Charles.

Charlie stops, turning to look at him again. Not sure what to expect -- a reprimand? The fabled dark side everyone keeps alluding to? Maybe a thank you for his kind words?

Brandon offers none of the above. He maintains his chilly demeanor but infuses it with his usual suave delivery, giving him another nod.

Brandon: Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

To Charlie, this simply seems nice. A good sign if nothing else. He smiles, then continues on his journey home. But when Brandon spins back to face the street, his expression is far from pleasant.

Perhaps he’s granting Charlie one last courtesy. He should enjoy this weekend as much as he can -- afterwards, perhaps enjoyment may not be so easy to find.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Sunday morning, bright and early, the school is more populated than usual. A small group is present to watch HARLEY KEINER unlock the trophy case and load their new one into it, placing it front and center with the utmost care. Jack is there to supervise, while Lucas, Dylan, and Asher came to witness the moment for themselves.

Dylan: Thanks for your service, sir.

Harley: Oh, no no, thank you. It’s been too many years since I got to update the display with this bad boy -- props to you folks for bringing him home.

And what a happy homecoming it is! Lucas steps forward to look for himself, the gleaming proof of his victory staring back at them. Representative of all the money about to come their way, to fund his initiative at least for a time.

He can’t help but grin, spinning back around to face the others. He loftily holds his arms out, sauntering forward and giving a cheeky bow. Then another, really milking the moment. Dylan and Asher break into theatrical applause, allowing him the silliness.

Lucas: Thank you, thank you very much.

They meet him in the middle and both throw their arms around his shoulders, and Lucas doesn’t shy away from the contact. Dylan starts playfully singing the chorus “We Are the Champions,” Asher quickly harmonizing, and even Lucas joins in as they amble towards the doors.

Lucas/Dylan/Asher: No time for losers, cause we are the champions!

Dylan: OF THE WOOOOOOORLD --

Jack watches them go, amused at their antics. Soaking in the moment of pride, of peace, in the school that despite its hell, he loves more than anything. He crosses his arms and meanders his way back to his office, humming the Queen song to himself as if it’s contagious.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Despite it not being anywhere near the way he imagined it, Zay finally submits his application to Turner. And this time in facing it he’s not alone, Yindra and Nigel both plopped on the bed next to him and encouraging him to do it right up until the moment it’s official.

He thanks them for everything, acknowledging Nigel’s argument that he’s glad he didn’t miss showdown. Nigel agrees it’s definitely going to be something they remember for a long time, especially now with the sweet addition of victory.

Yindra: Um, yeah, and how am I ever gonna forget your big speech to Jade? Like hello?

Zay: It was pretty ballsy. We might have to tell him about the contingency plan.

Yindra: Ooh… are we sure? Do we think he’s ready?

Nigel: What plan?

Yindra: We need a Michelle, Zay. Do we think he has what it takes to be a Michelle?

Nigel: To be a whomst?

Yindra and Zay exchange a conspiratorial look. Yindra claims this is their big plan for success, if their own solo endeavors don’t pan out.

Zay: So. Destiny’s Child --

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Farkle is meeting with DR. MICHELLE HAN again after a week or so of avoiding her, in his usual spot on the couch. But this time he’s sitting upright, and he’s got company -- both STUART MINKUS and JENNIFER MINKUS are with him. Nervous but resolute, Farkle claims that he’s ready to discuss the bipolar diagnosis further, especially in figuring out where they go from here and what he can do to live with it.

Dr. Han is pleased, happy to oblige. She tells him she’s glad he came around to it on his own terms, then begins to discuss the nuances of the condition. Jennifer glances to Farkle next to her, placing her hand on his forearm and giving it a supportive squeeze.

INT. YINDRA’S CHURCH - NIGHT

Charlie enters a large church we recognize as Yindra’s, only much more empty on a weekday evening than Sunday morning. The lights are all on, and there are various people dotted around. The PASTOR, an elderly black man with a wise aura and mischievous gleam in his eyes, is talking pleasantly with two elderly ladies to the side.

They eye Charlie as he walks past them towards the rows of seats. He has a lightness about him that wasn’t there the last time we saw him in his own church, but there are still remnants of his usual anxious state.

He walks up to the stage that Yindra and the gospel choir performed on and stops in the forestage. There are three banners decorating the wall in front of him, in white, purple and blue, featuring the cross, ichthys, and a flame. A very different vibe from his usual Catholic church, but comforting all the same.

Once he’s free of the church ladies, the pastor approaches Charlie.

Pastor: Hello, young man. What brings you here at this time of night? 

Charlie: Hi. Sorry if I’m intruding at all. [ off his nod of reassurance ] I came here the other week with my friend Yindra -- Yindra Amino, in the choir?

Pastor: Ah, yes. I know the Aminos quite well. Yindra is a lovely girl.

Charlie: I’m Catholic, but it just seemed so happy and… cool here, so I… well, I have something I need to say to God, and I ended up here. I hope that’s okay. 

Pastor: Of course. We welcome everybody, always. [ with a warm smile ] I’ll leave you and the big guy to it.

He gives him a fatherly pat on the shoulder, then leaves him be. Charlie takes a moment to collect his thoughts, looking up at the banners, and then kneels down. He takes his silver cross necklace out from under his clothes and holds onto the cross with one hand. 

Charlie: God… [ with a sigh ] It’s been a long semester. And a long summer. Kind of a long life, to be honest. And lately I’ve been having to do a lot of self-reflection. I keep finding myself in these moments where I have to… make a tough call. Or get to the right decision. Do the right thing. And every time I think to myself maybe you’d just give me the answer, that these choices could be simple, but I get that they aren’t. They aren’t supposed to be. It shouldn’t be that easy to define who you are — you need a test, sometimes, to prove it. And while I feel like I’ve had my fair share of that, I get why you couldn’t just show me the way. I had to find it for myself. I have to get there on my own. I can’t expect you to give me guidance if I’m not ready for it. But I’m getting there, now, and… and part of that is...

Tell us who you are.

He takes a deep breath, and exhales.

Charlie: I’m gay. [ with a nervous chuckle ] But you already knew that, didn’t you? You’ve always known exactly who I am. It’s me who’s been playing catch up.

Charlie pauses, fiddling with the chain of his necklace. He’s not sure what he’s waiting for -- the lightning strike, maybe -- but nothing comes. Of course it doesn’t. He releases another breath, easier now, and continues.

Charlie: I’m starting to understand who I am. And who you are, too. I’m beginning to trust my own decisions, and put who and what I value most above my own comfort or ease. There’s still a lot to figure out, I know, and I’m a long way from the person I’m meant to be… but I feel like I’m on the right path. [ with more soft confidence ] I pray that you’ll be with me on that journey, and that you’ll continue to guide me. I’m sorry for blocking this part of me from you for so long. I’m going to try and be my authentic self as much as I can from now on — I’m starting to realize it’s not worth being anything else. [ quietly ] Amen.

He stands up and takes a moment, then heads back towards the church’s entrance. He can’t help the corners of his mouth turning up; a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, but he’s trying not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the building.

The pastor catches him before he leaves, asking if he managed to tell God what he needed to. 

Charlie: I did, thank you. 

Pastor, tactfully: Forgive me if it’s not my place to ask, but... is your church accepting of the LGBTQ+ community?

Charlie’s eyes go wide. 

Charlie: How did you…? 

Pastor: Call it a natural instinct… my husband tells me it’s called ‘gaydar?’

Charlie processes this new information. Both of them almost want to laugh -- it’s just a little bit funny, a unique kind of levity, spotting another religious gay in the wild -- then he shakes his head to his question. 

Charlie: I grew up in a pretty strict household and church. 

Pastor: Hm, I see. I’m aware of several Christian LGBTQ+ communities and churches in the city, if you’d be interested? 

Charlie: I don’t know if… actually, yeah. That’d be really nice, thank you. 

Pastor: I’ll put together a little list for you and tell Yindra to Snapchat it over to you. [ off his dubious expression ] Or whatever you kids are using now. Don’t look at me like that, I’m old.

Charlie thanks him with a laugh, at ease and genuinely happy. The pastor bids him farewell as he heads to the double doors with stained glass windows, through which the lights outside shine through, creating a pastel prism of color on the hardwood floor.

EXT. YINDRA’S CHURCH - NIGHT

Charlie steps back out into the night, closing his eyes and inhaling the frigid air. A light rain has started to fall, the whole world seeming to shine around him. It’s refreshing, invigorating -- or maybe that’s just the freedom of what he just did. It might all be in his head, it might not, but what it means to him is the realest thing there is.

He releases the breath he’s been holding for years, a light smile blooming on his face.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Party For One” as performed by Carly Rae Jepsen || Performed by Charlie Gardner

There was no way we were going to get through the entire midseason finale without Charlie performing. It wouldn’t be right. And he’s truly earned it this time, the uplifting percussion that kicks off the number almost heaven-sent.

He starts the vocals softly, breathing them out like his monumental exhale. Then he gets moving, hands still in his pockets, walking backwards along the sidewalk in step with the beat. His excitement builds through the verse and pre-chorus until he just can’t hold it in anymore. When the beat drops and the first chorus really hits, he breaks free, pulling his hands from his pockets and spinning into a dance.

He dances solo, unrestrained, continuing his journey as he goes. It’s energetic contemporary, skillful as always, and laced with that same frenetic melodrama that has defined his previous performances in his imagination. Only this time it’s joy -- pure, uninhibited joy -- that pumps that passion through his movements.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT

Charlie carries on through the streets, loosening up as he goes. He unbuttons his coat, holds his arms out to soak in the rain. He runs his hands through his hair to brush the wetness from it, mussing it up in the process from the neatly combed way he’s been wearing it for weeks. Around him the city is a kaleidoscope, shimmering jewels in the night of reds, blues, purples, and gold.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - NIGHT

By the second verse, he’s made it to Central Park, launching back into his fun and free choreography. He dances along benches, swings on lampposts like Singin’ in the Rain, and gets mud on his pants from slipping and sliding in the grass.

A little messy, but he doesn’t care. Why should he care when he’s free?

EXT. AAA - NIGHT

By the time he reaches the final minute, he’s arrived at the steps of Adams, closed and empty for the night but still brightly lit and welcoming. Inviting, like the feeling of standing on your doorstep after a long journey home.

And this is where Charlie truly lets loose, the gleaming structure of AAA acting as the backdrop to his final expression of liberation. The dancing is really impressive now, spins and kicks and a couple of splits sprinkled in, but what’s most compelling about it is how much feeling it conveys. It’s hard to recognize you haven’t seen someone be authentic until you actually do, and that’s how this performance feels. His coat abandoned on the steps, his hair wild and free, skin glowing with rainwater and finally back on his beat.

This is Charlie’s showcase moment. And finally, the only audience that matters is himself.

I’ll just dance for myself, back on my beat!

When he wraps the rendition he lowers himself down into a slippery recline on the steps, breathing heavy but so worth it. He leans back on his palms, tilting his head up to the rain, to the stars, to whatever lies beyond waiting for him. Then he smiles, easy and effortless, laughing a bit to himself as the weather soaks him clean.

INT. HART APARTMENT - NIGHT

Katy, Maya, and Isadora are sharing the remnants of a pizza at their new kitchen counter, taking a dinner break from unpacking and starting to arrange the space. Katy reminds her that she absolutely does not need to hang around and help, but Isadora claims she doesn’t mind. She likes it, actually, and it’s exciting to see what they do with the place. But she actually should get going tonight -- school day tomorrow, and Eric will be wondering where she is.

As she gathers her things to head out, Katy suggests they grab breakfast at the diner tomorrow morning before school to celebrate. Her treat, for old times sake. As flattered as Isadora is by that offer, she can’t. She has a meeting she can’t miss first thing in the morning, but rain check. She doesn’t want to pass that up.

Katy and Maya bid her farewell, then descend into excited giggles as they launch onto their couch. Katy comments on how wonderful the view is too from this new apartment -- miles above their old one, anyway. Maybe everything happens for a reason… but God, is it good to be back with her girl. Especially one who is now a champion.

Maya grins, hugging her again and cuddling close. She tells her she’s so glad she’s home, more than she could ever express.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT

Riley is on her bed, the room starting to look a bit different as Maya’s stuff disappears. She’s got her laptop open, application for Tisch NYU the last one she has left to submit. Only hours left to decide if she’s going to go for it or not, if pursuing the arts for real is something she even wants to try.

CORY MATTHEWS knocks on the door, making a witty comment about how now that Maya is gone, maybe it’s time to switch rooms back… Riley claims they may as well just wait until she goes to college, right? Not worth all that effort to do it now when she’ll just move again in six months… Cory gives her a look, but he can’t help but smile at the same time. Clever girl…

He makes a point of congratulating her again, making sure she knows how proud he is of her.

Cory: Every day, I’m impressed with what a strong, mature, and clear leader you’ve become. I can’t wait to see all the amazing things you’re going to do next.

Riley smiles, touched. She climbs off her bed and swiftly rushes across the room to give him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, thanking him, then darts back to her space before he can respond. He gives her another playful head shake, wishing her goodnight.

Once alone, it’s just her and the application. She hesitates for a moment longer, thinking on it… what does she have to lose?

Decisively, she hits submit. Putting the potential out there for good. No turning back now.

Riley, pre-lap: I did it. I smashed that submit button. It’s out there now.

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Riley and Zay are meeting at Chubbies for late weekend celebratory fries, even more necessary now with her brand new update. Zay congratulates her and expresses confidence that she’s got as good a chance of getting into Tisch as any of them -- and yes, that includes Maya. He raises his water glass to cheers their future endeavors, Riley matching it enthusiastically.

The mood is somewhat disrupted when Charlie walks through the door, spotting them in their usual booth. This time, though, the sight doesn’t immediately make him think of retreat -- in fact, it seems like exactly what he was hoping for.

He quickly approaches their table, greeting both of them. Riley is surprised by his presence but not at all opposed… although his appearance is a bit questionable. Has he just been standing around in the rain? His hair is a windswept, slick mess, but there’s no mud on his clothes, so at least that part of his freedom dance wasn’t quite so literal.

Riley: Do you want to sit down? I know you like fries, so --

Charlie: [ still a bit out of breath ] Actually, I was hoping to catch a second with Zay. [ glancing at him ] If that’s okay?

Unexpected, certainly. Riley looks to Zay as well, gauging his reaction, trying to determine if she should stay or go. Zay eyes Charlie curiously, uncertain though far less apprehensive than in the recent past… then nods. He signals to Riley it’s okay, and she gets up to give them privacy without complaint. Charlie thanks her, touching her arm and congratulating her once again, before sliding into her vacated spot across from Zay.

For a moment, it’s hard to speak. No matter how much either of them want to, how often they think about it when they’re not around, the moment they’re in front of each other again it’s like everything stops. Like they’re frozen in time, still cold in the aftermath of a mistaken first time. A choked surrender in the costume loft. A blindsiding separation without a proper goodbye.

But time keeps going. They get older, they learn, they grow -- and there’s no doubt that both of them have done a painful amount of growing in the last few months. The only question now is if they can catch up to each other and find common ground; if they can find a new way forward as they are now, or if they even should.

And to do that, they have to speak. Zay clears his throat, eyeing his rain-soaked attire.

Zay: So, did you forget your umbrella, or were you just wandering around in the rain again --

Charlie: I don’t want to do this anymore.

Oh. Well, that can sure mean a lot of things, Charlie. Zay goes silent, watching him warily to see where this is going to go. He’s not even sure himself, really, what he wants to hear. Thankfully, Charlie didn’t seem intent on stopping it there, letting out a sigh and composing his thoughts before elaborating.

Charlie: I just mean… being a million miles apart. Existing like we’re in different worlds. Maybe when all this started we -- I -- needed that. To feel like I was doing what I set out to do, to become independent and figure all my stuff out on my own without bringing you down with me. Because that’s why I did it. I know you already know that, but it took me some time to stop convincing myself otherwise. [ a beat, looking down at his hands ] At first, I really thought I was doing the right thing. The thing that was best for everyone, that would allow me to fix everything. But I wasn’t really fixing anything. I think I was just doing what I always do. Running.

Zay listens patiently, not betraying anything. Letting Charlie have the time to work through it, to say what he needs to say. Charlie meets his eyes.

Charlie: And I know I screwed everything up, making those choices without you. [ shaky ] I know I hurt you, and… [ fiercely ] and I hate that I did. I hope you’ll believe that the last thing I ever, ever wanted to do was hurt you.

Zay’s calm demeanor cracks slightly, betraying that exact hurt flaring up again. But it doesn’t hurt the same way anymore. It’s healed over, a dull ache that with the right treatment and a little more time will recover.

Charlie dips his head down, doing his best to keep it together and not do something unhelpful like cry. He clears his throat, taking another deep breath and finding his resolve. He meets his eyes again, not letting himself run anymore.

Charlie: But I did. I did, and I’m sorry. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. I made some serious mistakes, and I know I’m going to have to live with them forever. You and I... we’re always going to carry that with us. We’re always going to have this history, the good and the bad. It’s never going to just go back to how it was before.

True enough. Zay nods, acknowledging it. Then, would they really want it to? Would they want to trade it all away for a fresh start, if it meant taking the good moments too?

Charlie: Even still… I wouldn’t change it. Because I can’t imagine what life would be like -- what I would be like -- if none of it ever happened. And no matter what’s changed since, the mistakes I’ve made… a million years ago, before all this started, I told you that I couldn’t lose you. That you were too important to lose. Now I know I was right. [ with a weak smile ] I don’t want to keep doing this, stumbling through life without you.

It’s getting harder and harder to remain neutral. Zay sniffs, swiping at his lips and trying to maintain his composure. Charlie isn’t looking away now, taking him in as much as he can while he makes his appeal.

Charlie: And maybe it’s selfish, which is exactly what caused all this in this first place, but I don’t care. If there’s one thing I’ll allow myself a little selfishness for, it’s this. That’s my new choice. You were one of my best friends, and you’re one of my favorite people. [ a beat ] And I totally get if this isn’t enough, or if it’s too much, and you’d just rather not. But is there any chance we can just… try? Try to find our rhythm again, be friends again? [ delicate ] Because I know the world needs you, but I really miss Zay Babineaux.

If Charlie uncharacteristically had a lot to say, then it only makes sense for Zay to have nothing. He’s speechless, absorbing everything Charlie said and trying to keep his emotions in check while grappling with that same question he’s been struggling with for weeks. If things aren’t completely broken, if they can be even remotely repaired, then is it worth the risk of letting him back in so they can fix it? Is that something he wants? Does it even feel possible, considering all their history and how frozen they’ve felt before?

But all of that was daunting when Charlie remained a question mark, when his feelings and opinions were kept behind that protective shell he works hard to maintain. Now, now that he’s said it and put himself out there, there’s no more guessing what Charlie wants. And when he knows where Charlie stands on it, on them, his decision is suddenly easy.

Zay: I could be down for trying. [ unable to hold back a small smile ] I’d really like that. Believe it or not, I missed Charlie Gardner.

The relieved smile that consumes Charlie’s features is instant, a laugh escaping him. Not because anything is funny, but because he can finally breathe again. The world has thawed around them, allowing time to resume and for both of them to move forward.

And what that means for them, well, only time will tell.

Riley slowly creeps her way back towards the booth, apologizing for interrupting but claiming she’s starving and absolutely needs to eat a fry or she’ll collapse. Charlie and Zay crack up, gesturing for her to rejoin them officially. She beams, feeding off their infectious energy that only freedom can conjure, and slides back into the booth next to Zay.

Charlie brings up an epic moment from their showdown performance and they quickly launch into excited chatter, the rapport between the three of them finally at ease. The way it was always meant to be -- hopefully, the way it will be forever more.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Isadora arrives at school bright and early, having come in with Eric rather than her classmates for a change. She knocks on Jack’s office door and enters as soon as she hears the beginnings of a response. Patience may not be her strong suit.

Jack is already busy with work, but sets his focus entirely on Isadora when she sits down across from him. Her face is set, that classic De La Cruz fierceness and determination clear. 

Jack: Eric mentioned you wanted to see me. How can I help you, Miss De La Cruz? 

Isadora: I’m here to discuss the possibility of setting up a scholarship fund in my mother’s name.

Jack’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that. Before he can respond to the proposition, Isadora continues.

Isadora: As you’re aware, I have inherited a large sum of money from my mother upon her passing. 

Jack, gently: Isadora, you don’t need to be so formal with me. This isn’t a business meeting.

Isadora sighs in relief, allowing her posture to relax. 

Isadora: I’ve been struggling with what to do with my mom’s money for a while now, and I realized when I was helping Katy and Maya move into their new apartment that I should use it in a way that Valerie would support. [ waiting for Jack to nod in acknowledgement before continuing ] My mom loved this school, how it fosters the next round of talent. She often dropped hints to me that she’d like to be a guest teacher more regularly -- 

Jack: [ caught off guard ] Did she? She never mentioned anything to me or Eric… 

Isadora, fondly: It was part of her plan for moving to New York. But my point is, a scholarship fund is exactly what Valerie would want her money to go towards. Helping bring up the round of superstars, particularly ones like Maya who can’t necessarily access it on their own. That’s how she started out too, you know, not coming from much. She made her own luck, but I don’t think she’d even blink if she had the chance to help someone else achieve those same dreams without half the struggle. It feels right. Plus, it’ll help keep Lucas and Maya’s new legislation intact without having to rely on winning showdown every single year. Haverford are… tough competition.

That’s one way to describe them. Jack nods as he thinks it over, keen on the idea. He can’t see any reason why it can’t happen. 

Jack: Sounds like an excellent idea to me. I’m sure Lucas and Maya will be pleased too. [ a beat ] Well done for coming to such a wise decision on your own. Valerie would be proud of you, I’m sure. And so am I.

Isadora is touched by the sentiments, and gets up from her chair to hurry around to his side of the desk. She gives him a quick hug, taking him by surprise. 

Isadora: Thank you. For always being there for me. You and Eric mean a lot to me. [ a beat ] Well, um… bye. I guess.

She offers him an awkward wave as she walks back around his desk and towards the door. Jack is still frozen in surprise from Isadora’s hug and gratitude, knowing full well how much that means. He smiles at her, happy that she seems to trust him.

Jack’s uplifted mood doesn’t last long though. Yancy appears in the doorway just as Isadora is leaving, the two of them nearly bumping into each other. He shoots a subtle glare at her, but she doesn’t back down easily, so she glares right back at him until she passes.

Yancy: Quite the attitude on that one. Seems that might be a trend here at Adams.

Jack: Looks can be deceiving. Isadora just helped arrange for a fund to support the new scholarships in full, for many, many years. [ pointedly ] If humanity has any hope, I believe it’s in the youth. They certainly demonstrate much greater compassion than I’ve observed lately.

Yancy: Oh, then I suppose we both have good news, then.

Yancy clasps his hands together, looking all too pleased to be delivering this news. Jack braces himself for the worst.

Yancy: I submitted my report last week, and the board has reached their verdict. Effective January 1st, the role of principal will officially be open to apply for at Adams Academy for the Arts. I myself am planning to submit for consideration -- I think I could do more here than the school board at this point, considering the disastrous status of the school at present.

Jack’s heart sinks. He’s not being fired, but it’s al\most worse this way, dangling it in front of his face and making him do tricks like a show pony to prove he deserves to keep the position. He’s out of words, clenching his jaw and choosing not to give Yancy the satisfaction of a response. But he hardly needs one -- Yancy’s smugness is detectable from a mile away.

Yancy: You are, of course, welcome to reapply to keep your position, Jackson. In fact, I encourage it -- the board deserves the opportunity to reject you outright. [ a beat ] Until then, I suggest you start considering alternatives. You may very well be saying goodbye to Adams with your precious senior A class by the time this school year concludes.

With that, there’s nothing left to say. Yancy spins and leaves Jack to grapple with this info bomb on his own, at least giving him the dignity of reacting on his own.

Jack gets to his feet, closing the door behind Yancy. Then he finds himself slowly leaning against it, like all the energy has been zapped right out of him. His jaw twitches, eyes glossing over, like everything he’s been balancing and building up barricades against for years is about to break through and totally overrun him…

But he takes a deep breath, steels himself, and releases it with a sigh. Right now, there’s work to be done. Things to see through. And when the time comes to face the prospects, well, he’ll deal with it then.

Straightening up and clearing his throat, Jack moves back to his desk and settles in his chair. Back to work, doing what needs to be done as principal.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The A class is gathered for their first class since the weekend, all still chatty and buzzy with excitement from their victory. They’re up on the stage, chatting in small clusters about their performance and complimenting one another on their finest moments. Dylan and Asher in particular are huddled with Jade, gossiping about what happened with Nigel and what she thinks their first date is going to be.

But they snap back to attention when Harper and Shawn enter, the former enthusiastically taking the stage and greeting them as the Manhattan Showdown champs. This earns a loud cheer, Harper offering her own applause and letting them soak up the pride. Then she goes on to explain just how proud of them she is, how inspired she is by what they pulled off, and how remarkably moving it was to watch them come together to create something irrefutably them.

Harper: As you all surely remember, I was a bit out of my element when I came here last year. I thought I knew Triple A, but you all were another brand entirely. And you didn’t make easy on me -- or yourselves -- so I always wondered how you’d manage to pull this off. Now I realize it was silly of me to doubt. You, the senior A class, are full of unexpected surprises -- and I think that might just be your greatest strength.

Hear, hear! As for assignments this week, it’s the last week before winter break, so Harper admits she doesn’t really know what they should do either. After such a crazy few weeks, she feels like they’ve been tested enough.

As it turns out, maybe no reason is exactly the thing they need to perform right now. Riley says as much, sharing her thinking that while the rush of the last few weeks have been exciting, it’s been a minute since any of them just got to sing for the joy of it. Which is a shame, a travesty, considering that’s why all of them are at this school, in this place, together. Love of the art.

So that’s what they do. For the first time in months, the A class breaks into song because they want to. Because they can. Because it unites all of them, even when there’s no pressure or thing to fight for.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “To Noise Making (Sing)” as performed by Hozier || Performed by AAA Seniors

Riley kicks us off, singing happily to her classmates as she stands at the center of the stage. She makes her way around and shares a little moment with all of them, gradually pulling all of them into the harmonies, until she’s got the collective singing along. From there, her classmates step up to share focus, Zay, Maya, Isadora, Chai, and Yindra just a few of the notable ones to take a solo for a couple lines. Farkle takes the bridge, accepting an affectionate side hug from Riley as he does.

Harper and Shawn watch from the back of the front center section, swaying and grooving along. Eric has come to join them, but he can tell something is missing. He glances over his shoulder towards the doors, looking for Jack, but he’s nowhere to be found.

Then the A class comes together, all making their way into a closer formation at center stage. Nigel takes Jade’s hand and pulls her gently into the group, twirling her under his arm. Riley makes sure Lucas gets included in the throng, though this time he hardly seems reluctant, throwing his arm around her shoulders. He’s not singing, mind you, but here’s there in the moment with the rest of them.

And that’s where we leave them as we close out this half-season. The united A class, exhausted but still going strong, vindicated victors, brimming with unbelievable potential for the future.

Can’t wait to see what happens next.

END OF EPISODE.

[sunshineseung]

Sinner Part 2 // Felix

💌 Info: Stray Kids Felix x female!reader smut 💕 Includes: dom!reader x sub!felix, themes of religion, teasing, exhibitionism/fear of being caught, first time, loss of innocence, establishment of safeword, degradation and praise, oral/fingering (receiving), unprotected sex, riding, cum play, slight aftercare ✏️ Word Count: ~4.2k

Please read part one of this series first :) Thank you!

The rain was pouring in the pitch black outside, but the lights inside the church hall were bright as day. The only occupant of the church on this night was Lee Felix deep in prayer, oblivious to the storm outside. With hands folded and head bowed, he whispered his prayer through his lips, a slight echo of his words spreading through the otherwise empty room. 

Felix jolts up at the sound of the main entrance being opened and slammed shut quickly after. A feminine sigh can be heard, and Felix lets out a shy “hello” to the intruder of his private repentance time. 

“Oh, you’re here?” You say while entering the main hall, throwing your wet jacket over one of the pews. “I thought this place would have been empty.”

“What are you doing here?” Felix retorts immediately, slightly offended that of all people to walk in at this moment, it had to be you. 

“I should be asking you the same thing, little boy.” You shuffle the hair on his head, earning an annoyed grunt from him. “The bitch ass pastor’s making me clean the archives in the basement since I... caused some trouble earlier this week.”

“Caused some trouble? Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Felix was beyond offended at this point. If it wasn’t your name-calling of the pastor, it was your dismissal of your actions. “You and your group of friends painted sinful phrases on the side of the church!”

“It was all in good fun, damn. Chill out.” While, yes, spray painting God Loves Lesbians on the wall of the church was questionable, it was fun! And best of all, the pastor said he wouldn’t call authorities if you cleaned the basement. “It was worth it anyway. Did you see the look on his face? Priceless!” 

The boy was boiling with rage, but he held his anger back in fear of cursing or saying the Lord’s name in vain. Despite hating you, part of him wanted to save you. While not being the healthiest mindset, Felix felt like he could save anyone from sin, and he was going to try to save what he called the rodent of the congregation. 

“Now, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?” Your tone of voice edged on sarcasm, you having full knowledge of his nightly prayer. He had calmed down, remembering that he was in a place of the Lord. His face returned from red back to it’s normal hue, and he looked to you with gentle eyes.

“I was praying. I did some questionable things this week too.” His admission to sin took you aback. You didn’t expect everyone’s favorite boy to openly confide in you that he committed an act against his God, something you never thought he would do.

“What kind of questionable things?” Your interest was piqued, and his sudden bluntness was just what you wanted to see. What resides in the mind of Felix?

“I shouldn’t be telling you this.” He looks into his lap, a sudden wave of shyness clouding him. You sit next to him on the pew, patting his back to comfort him. Despite him being so critical of your actions, you did have a soft spot for the sweet boy. “I... pleasured myself.”

You almost burst out into laughter, but you had to suppress that for now, because the most holy person you knew just said he masturbated, and he felt bad about it. As someone who was not shy to doing that specific act among other ungodly things, to see someone repent for doing something totally natural in your eyes was otherworldly. 

“It’s okay, Felix. Sex is natural.” You attempted to comfort him, but you could tell by the deepness in his eyes that he still regretted what he did. Also, when you so casually said the word sex, he winced a bit since he hated the word so much. “You have nothing to be ashamed for. Everyone masturbates.” 

“You don’t understand!” The raise in his voice boomed through the desolate church hall, and you darted your look towards him in shock. “It wasn’t just that.” His voice got soft again, almost a whisper. You lean in to hear him. “I watched the most sinful videos. I thought about myself doing those horrid things. I feel filthy.”

“Lix, I understand completely. Do you think I haven’t done those exact name things?” You raise your eyebrow at him, and he timidly shakes his head. “You’re a young adult. This is normal. Don’t let it eat you up, okay?” 

“Okay.” His deep voice sent shivers down your spine, and it just hit you that you were basically giving him the birds and the bees talk. A comforting smile graces your face as you get up from your seat next to Felix. 

“I should go start cleaning the basement. Mind helping me?” You hold your hand out to him, offering some more time to spend with you. He reluctantly takes your hand, and you help him stand from the pew. You two silently make your way into the damp basement of your church. 

Dust, cobwebs, and the sent of mold cover the dreary basement as you and Felix step down. The conversation in the basement is much more lighthearted, but you can’t shake the image of Felix masturbating out of your head. You’ve never thought of the star child like that before, but his confession made you see him in a new light. He wasn’t above you. He was a teenager driven by sex and hormones like everyone else. 

Once the basement was tidy, books arranged on shelves and dust swept away, you exchanged phone numbers with the boy and headed on your merry way, but that was far from the last time you would hear from Felix.

Over the next two weeks, Felix would text you casually. It started as a nice, wholesome friendship: discussing classes, complaining about personal things, and sharing homework. No matter what the conversation topic was, your mind would wander to the more dark and depraved side of your persona. You wanted to pick his brain on a multitude of topics, but most of all: sex. Since confessing his scandal to you, you wanted to know if he did it again, what he’s into, or even if he’s thought about you.

One night, in a heightened state of mind, you text him a simple question: Have you jerked off since that night? Sure, you regretted it when you sobered up, but you got the answer you wanted... sort of.

I’ve wanted to, but I also want to get into heaven unlike some people. Wow, pointed. However, I have watched more... pornographic films??? Sometimes the girl puts the mans... in her mouth, and it’s scary. Why would someone want to do that?

After explaining to the poor boy what a blowjob is and why it’s amazing, he takes two days to respond to your text, something he’s never done before. It was radio silence, and you didn’t bother to try to garner a response, because you knew Felix was busy

After waiting what seemed like an eternity for a response, you got what you were praying for, and you were worried this would happen.

I’m sorry if this comes off as aggressive, but will you show me a blowjob? Like, perform a blowjob on me? I take back what I said about getting into heaven. I can always beg for forgiveness, but right now, I’m really frustrated. 

You’ve created a monster. 

When Felix escapes the attic after you give him what you believe to be his first sexual encounter with another person, you quietly reenter the congregation as if you didn’t just cause the prettiest church boy to bust a load on himself minutes before. 

“Darling, there you are!” Your mother holds her arms out to you after what you presumed to be a particularly moving speech from the pastor. “We’re having dinner with the Lee family tonight, and I’d expect you to be on your best behavior. Would you like to join us?” 

“I’d be happy to go, mom.” Fuck fuck fuck. This was supposed to be a one time thing, and as much as the idea of teasing Felix in front of his family excited you, you’d hate to get caught by your own family, although the devil in you was very willing to take that risk for the slightest bit of sexual satisfaction. 

“Great! We’ll head over at 5 o’clock. Please dress up, dear. Your current shirt looks wrinkled. What were y-” 

“I’ll dress up, don’t worry!” You cut her off, and her face scrunches, but you’d rather not have to deal with the wrath of your mother. Your father returns to your mother after having a short conversation with Felix’s father.

“Mr. Lee said Felix could be a good influence on you, Y/n.” The temptation to roll your eyes was strong considering the preceding events. “Pay attention to how he talks to his parents. You could learn something, sweetheart.”

As much as you wanted to cause a scene in the church from your father’s condescending tone, you were more focused on getting home and changing your soaked, ruined panties. Your family says their casual goodbyes to the other churchgoers, and you make your way back to the family car, hoping your father speeds home. 

“Honey, it’s time to go!” Your mother puts in her second earring as she yells up to your room from the bottom of the stairs. Your door wings open to reveal you in a short red skirt, low-cut white shirt, white dress shoes, and bright red lipstick. “You’re wearing that?”

“It’s fine, ma! Nothing they haven’t seen before!” You whisk past your mother and slide into the backseat of the family car, ready to have dinner with the boy of your nightmares. 

When you enter the Lee family household, you can tell Felix’s parents are judging you, but you didn’t dress like that for them. When Felix turns the corner and faces you, his eye practically bulge out of his head. His gaze is glued to your thighs, hips, bust, and lips, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Judging by the sudden tightening in his pants, he clearly enjoys the view.

“Hello! Welcome to our house,” Felix’s mother escorts you inside to the living room. “Make yourself at home until dinner is ready.” She disappears into the kitchen while Felix’s father sits down on the couch and invites you and your family to sit with him. Felix shyly sits next to his father, although there was hardly any room for him to sit there. 

Your father and Felix’s father start talking about sports, while your mother goes on her phone. You make eye contact with Felix from across the couch, and his whole body tenses and he breaks into a nervous sweat. Aw, she’s so pretty, what do I do, what do I do, frick, frick, fuck.

Without saying a word, Felix gets up and runs out of the living room. Everyone darts their attention towards him, but no one tries to stop him. 

“Dinner’s re- where did Felix go?” His mother enters the living room, but her announcement is halted by the absence of her son. Everyone looks at each other, no one having answers for Felix's tantrum. "Would someone go get him please?"

"I got him." Your devious smirk should set the crowd off, but you make your way up the stairs to where you see Felix's bedroom door. His door had his name on it, so it was pretty clear what room was his.

"Go away." The second he hears your knock, he throws a pillow at his door, as if that would stop you from barging in. You see him sat on his bed, arms crossed, another pillow over his crotch, and his lip in a pout. "Why did you come here wearing that?"

He was definitely on the defense, and you've never seen Felix this angry since the night in the church. "I just thought this outfit was cute." Playing innocent might not have been the best idea at this moment, but you just had to calm him down and get him out to dinner.

"Yeah, it's a nice outfit, but I can see your butt whenever you turn around, and your cleavage is out, and I'm just very confused." He was frustrated at himself more than you. You sit next to him and put your hand on his shoulder, a familiar scene.

"Come down for dinner, and afterwards, I'll show you what I have under this outfit, okay babe?" Felix was so painfully tensed, every nerve of his was on edge. Your words were filthy, but he loved it so much.

He can't stop thinking about you. He wants to do everything to your body: eat you out, fuck your tits, spank your ass. He wants to do every sinful thing he's seen in those videos. Just imagining seeing you in your underwear makes him want to bust in his pants. You're driving him insane, and if Felix from a few weeks ago had seen what he has become, he would be disgusted.

You two make your way downstairs, Felix staring at your ass the entire time, and take your seats at the table. The dinner table was a circle, so you were seated right between Felix and your mother. Not the sexiest setting, but that wouldn't stop you.

The food was delicious, but halfway through, you placed your hand on Felix's thigh, and although you had him pecking the back of your throat earlier that day, he was still extremely sensitive to every touch. When your hand slid up his leg, he let out the quietest moan, and although the table was full of chatter between your parents, you were able to hear the precious sounds leaving Lee Felix as you swiped your hand across his twitching bulge.

Felix grabs your wrist and throws your arm back to you. He gives you a death stare, but his eyes are dark, and he looks so fucking needy. You meet his gaze and adjust your top, pulling it even lower than it already was. His eyes are glued to your tits, but you point down to your crotch, where you're fingering your self under the table. Felix bites his lip, but goes back to eating his food.

You take your wet finger and wipe it against his pant leg. Jesus fucking Christ, you were breaking this boy. His bulge was painfully large, and again, he felt like he could bust in his pants.

"I'm wet for you, baby boy. When dinner's over, do you want to taste me?" You whisper in his ear, and he closes his eyes tightly, trying not to fully fall for your tricks. His pathetic nod is all you need to go back to finishing your dinner, and he does the same, but his mind is fogged with the image of your naked body bouncing on his cock. So pathetic. So, so pathetic.

Dinner ends, Felix's mom takes the plates, and you and Felix disappear back into his room while the adults have their alone time to drink and chat. When he locks the door, you pin him to the wall and lick your lips. You stare him up and down, watching him as he panics. Everything he wanted to do to you escapes him, and he's putty in your hands.

Speechless, Felix rests his hands flush against the wall and tilts his head backwards, giving you full access to his neck. You take the opportunity to make dark hickeys along his neck, which will definitely be visible to his parents later. Your tongue against his skin makes him shudder, and mindless whimpers escape his lips.

"If you ever want to stop, the safe word is red, or snap twice. I'll only go as far as you want to, Lix." He nods, repeats what you said, and you go back to work on his neck.

"C-can I taste you?" His words are feint, but you're more than happy to take his request. You slip your skirt down to the floor and take off your tight shirt, giving Felix a full show of your lingerie you wore just for him.

"You've become such a whore for me, Lix." You traced his body with your hands, sliding your fingertips over his abs and chest. "Do you even know what to do with my pussy, huh? You're so innocent, I doubt you'd be able to make me cum."

His heart was racing, and he wanted nothing more than to prove you wrong. While, yes, he had no idea what he was doing, he wanted to taste your sweet release coat his tongue.

"Teach me." He was being bold. You'd never thought you'd see Felix this confident in this setting, especially since he was admitting to being inexperienced. You took his hands in yours and lead him to the bed. He watched you as you sat on the edge of the bed and spread your legs, giving him full access to your dripping cunt.

"Get on your knees, baby boy." He did as instructed, but this was the first time he was on his knees next to his bed to do anything other than pray. His hands ghosted over your thighs, scared to touch you without your permission.

"May I take off your panties?" You nod and lift your hips, allowing him to slide them down your legs. A string of wetness connected you with your panties, and Felix's mouth was watering. Your panties were discarded across the room, and you unhooked your bra and tossed it with the rest of your clothes. "Woah, you're so gorgeous."

You pet his blushing, freckled cheek, and coax him closer to your heat. His lips are hardly centimeters away from you, and you gently tangle your hand in his hair. "Lick my pussy, naughty boy. I know you want to."

Felix bites his lip before diving into your pussy, his tongue exploring every fold. Even though he doesn't know where the clitoris is, he knows that when he licks the top of your pussy, your thighs shake around him, so he circles his tongue through your cunt, and you give him the sweetest praise.

"Such a good boy for me, yeah?" You smile down at him, and the eye contact is intoxicating. You tighten around nothing when his tongue perfectly flicks over your clit. "Finger me, please, baby.”

He inserts his index finger into your core, and it feels like heaven to both of you. Felix imagines it's his cock inside you, and the thought of you tightening around him urges him to take his tight pants off without removing his mouth from your pussy.

"Bend your finger, my slutty little boy. Make your mistress cum on your pretty face." Your high was approaching, and you wanted Felix to work for it. He fucked his finger into you, adding his middle finger in the process. The more he looked at your heat, the more nervous he got, but from the wetness covering his fingers and lips, you didn't notice how nervous he was.

His fingers perfectly pushed into your g-spot, and your orgasm got miles closer. Your moans got louder, and no matter how close your parents were to hearing, you didn't quiet down. Felix loved your moans, and his cock twitches in his underwear.

"You're so hot, Y/n, please cum for me." His voice was hoarse and desperate, but you weren't that easy.

"Suck my clit. Make me cum all over your face, cutie." He aimlessly sucked at your folds, but when he found your clit, he never left that spot. Your violent moans of pleasure made him groan onto your clit, sending you over the edge. Your essence covered his fingers, and he lapped up every bit of your release. "Good boy."

You were out of breath, but Felix just started. He stood up and sat in your lap. You placed your hands on his hips, squeezing him and making him jolt. His erection was painfully pressed against his tight boxers, and you hooked your finger around the waistband and pulled them down his thighs. Although it had only been a few hours, his length never failed to impress you.

"Please fuck me, Y/n. I want to feel you on me." He was so desperate for any sort of touch. You lazily wrapped your hand around his cock and started stroking, but he grabbed your wrist, stopping you. "Ride me."

"Very demanding for a little slut, don't you think?" You throw him off your lap, his back harshly slamming onto the bed. Your legs surround his hips as you line your entrance with his cock, and he squeezes his eyes shut. His hands held onto your thighs as if it were life or death, and for him, it was.

Right before you lowered yourself onto him, he felt every negative thought enter his mind. What if I'm not good enough? What if I cum too soon? What if she hates me? What would my parents say if they caught us? God, please forgive me.

You see him grit his teeth, and you stop. You gently pet his cheek again, bringing him back to earth, and more importantly, bringing his attention back on your dripping core hanging over his cock.

Without warning, Felix grabs your hips and pushes you down onto him. He loses all control, and you love it. You stay still once he bottoms out, his face contorting into questionable expressions from the pleasure overwhelming him. He calms down, and you start to ride him, his cock sliding against your walls and filling you up perfectly.

You throw your head back and quicken your pace, chasing your second orgasm. Felix feels himself on the edge, but he holds back, fearful of what will happen if he cums inside you.

"Fuck, Felix, you feel so good." Your moans are so load, and the creaking of the bed is deafening. Felix's deep grunts and growls sound amazing, and his grip on your hips is tight enough to bruise. "So good, baby boy, so good."

His finger lingers to the familiar spot that is your clitoris, although Felix doesn't know that fully. He circles his finger around your sensitive bud, and his other hand grips your tit. His hands feel so good, and with one more press into your g-spot, you coat his cock in your cum. He thrusts into you when you tighten around him, and his orgasm is threatening to release, but he refuses to be the father of a child with someone who he is not married to.

You ride out your high on his cock, and when you return back to earth, you remove yourself and harshly wrap your hand around his cock. Your pumps are violent, and his body is aching for an orgasm. You bend over and lick the tip, his cum coating your tongue and face. He opens his eyes, cum squirted onto your face, and he's sure you'll be mad at him, but you lick your lips, collect his cum from your face, and swallow every last drop.

Without a word, you topple over next to him, and you rest your head on his chest. He hesitantly wraps his arm around you, and you muzzle into him.

"You're so good for me, Felix." You whisper into him, but he hear every word. He smiles, unable to speak after the intense orgasm he just experienced. "We need to go back downstairs, you know?"

After a few moments of silence, Felix speaks up. "Y/n, this is... wrong." He sits up, your head falling onto the bed and his arms holding him up. "We shouldn't have done this."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, b-"

"Then nothing is wrong." You pat his back, admiring the defined muscles. You sit up with him and look at the clothes scattered across the room. "Sex isn't bad, Lix."

"This just goes against what I've been taught my entire life." He pauses, deep in thought. "Sex is good." He repeats under his breath.

You stand up and stretch, your ass catching Felix's eye. He sighs and accepts his actions, clearing his floor of the discarded clothing and getting dressed again.

"Felix, can I borrow a hoodie?" You hold up a hoodie from the local Christian radio station, and Felix shrugs. "Thanks, babe."

"Y/n, do you like me?" You stop in your tracks after Felix's question, and you honestly don't know how to answer. Did you like Lee Felix?

"I'm not sure, but maybe we could go on a date sometime." Your tone was casual, but your mind was racing. Before this, you thought you didn't have feelings for the cute little church boy, but now that you've been confronted with it, you didn't know how to feel.

"... Sure."

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

The irony of white lilies

CW: funeral, mention of death, hate of a loved one

Bright golden sun, radiant blue sky, fluffy white clouds, joyful chirping birds, colourful blooming flowers, iridescent dew drops sliding off waxy green leaves, sweet scents of freshly-baked bread and pastries wafting through the fresh morning air… all of it was too much for Remus. It was too pretty, too happy, too good to be true. London was never this beautiful. Of course, the one day where it was had to be the funeral of his three best friends and his relationship with the one person he had loved more than anything else. He looked at himself in the narrow mirror in the hallway: tall, slim, long gangly limbs drowning in a dark brown suit, the only one he owned, which was slightly too large for him, mousy brown hair strands hanging limply over his face and having lost their golden shine, honey brown greenish eyes shadowed by dark rings, and pale, ashy skin stricken with several old silvery scars and a couple of fresh pink ones. The mirror reflected the ghost of a person, a mere shadow of who he was before. In the top right corner of the reflective glass, five words and a name were hastily written in black marker. The letters were perfectly shaped, curved in elegant lines, clear and regular, so very different from Remus’ own scrawny, barely readable handwriting. It was unmistakably Sirius’ handwriting through and through, remnants of his aristocratic past clear as day. And it read:

“I love you, remember me

-Sirius”

It was nothing more than a mere note, a regular thing Sirius did, nothing out of the usual, and yet, it was as if he had known what would happen, as if…

“As if he had planned it all along,” Remus realised. Ragingly, he whipped the glass with his long, frayed sleeve, attempting to erase the message before his eyes, from existence, from his memory, but the letters wouldn’t even smudge. Huffing in frustration, he grabbed his wand, before stomping out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind himself.

“Colloportus,” he whispered sharply, waving at the lock briefly with his hand.

The air around him crackled quietly, buzzing with the magic that escaped the howling wolf inside him, are emotions and uncontrollable feelings ruling over his entire being, brimming with pure power. Remus ran down the stairs, ducking out of the building, and slipped into a nearby foul-smelling alley, shadowed by the silhouettes of the tall houses surrounding it. Hiding behind a dumpster, he Apparated away with a loud crack.

***

The fields surrounding the Potter’s barndominium swayed in the fresh autumn wind, grass blades rustling softly as the last few flowers undulated and bent over under the pressure of harsher gusts of cold air. Not far from him, about 50 meters or so away, a group of people clad in black clothes stood amongst pristine white chairs. An altar of some sort crowned with a plethora of flowers stood proudly above them, a few long ribbons of white silk swaying in the wind over the guests. Ridiculously, it looked almost like the preparations of a wedding ceremony instead of a funeral, full of decorations and extravaganza.

“The entire opposite of what James and Lily would have wanted,” Remus thought, scoffing, before making his way over to the small crowd, striding through the tall yellowy dried out grass.

No one noticed him when he approached the congregation, all too busy talking in hushed whispers amongst themselves or staring at the front towards the flowered altar. Remus recognised a couple of faces here and there, some Professors from Hogwarts, some people he remembered having seen at Fleamont’s and Euphemia’s glorious and colourful Christmas parties, and a few students he had attended Hogwarts with. Order members were stationed in several places, milling around the mourners, stances guarded and wands drawn. Now more than ever, the aftermath of the War hung heavy in the air, looming darkly over everyone’s minds, deemed finished yet never entirely gone. Clenched fists stuffed in his pockets, Remus hung back a little, staying at the back of the crowd, observing everyone carefully and nodding to the occasional acquaintance who caught his eye. Something about the atmosphere felt very off and erroneous, yet he couldn’t quite place his finger upon it thus far. Suddenly, the loud telltale crack of Apparition cut sharply through the muffled conversations, and Dumbledore appeared in the middle of the funeral, exceedingly dramatic. Everything quieted down as he swept the crowd with his bright blue eyes, staring half-pensively half-gravely at everyone behind his half-moon spectacles. Finally, after a few strangely agonisingly long seconds, he turned around swiftly in a swish of robes and walked up to the altar on which lay James and Lily’s lifeless bodies. While Dumbledore waved briefly at the gathered attendance, gesturing for them to sit down on the white wooden chairs, Remus only had eyes for the cadavers of his two best friends, allowing himself to really look for the first time. They laid side by side, dressed in pristine softly shimmering silk white robes as if it were their wedding day, surrounded by wreaths of white lilies. James’ dark caramel skin and black curls and Lily’s auburn hair stood out drastically against the pureness of their milieu. Eyes closed faces relaxed and serene, they almost looked like a pair of coloured porcelain dolls that had been deposited on an elaborate flowerbed. Neither of them seemed dead, on the contrary, it was as if they were plunged in nothing more but deep, tranquil sleep, away from everything, at peace. Unable to bear it any longer, Remus turned away, biting his trembling lip as he watched the grass continue to sway softly. The sickeningly sweet smell of lilies was carried to him by the wind. A small, ironic smile bordering on slightly crazed stretched across his thin lips as his face contorted into a tight, pained grimace.

“Lily hated lilies, especially white lilies,” he thought with morbid amusement.

Behind him, the people had ceased to shuffle around and settled in their chairs. Dumbledore coughed lightly, and Remus glanced back, locking eyes with him. A rush of anger surged inside of him, though he did not know exactly why. The old man must have perceived it somehow, maybe seen the raging flare in his eyes, because after a few seconds, he lowered his eyes, gazing instead at the guests.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” he began, “we are gathered here today to honour James and Lily Potter, who unfortunately and tragically lost their lives far too soon on the grim night that was the 31st of October 1981. Both Lily and James were remarkable people, praised both in magical and emotional domains by many. They were caring and loving people, who brought much new to better the world we live in. I would thus like to go back on some of the deeds James and Lily Potter accomplished in their noble, albeit short lives, to mourn them in a celebration of them rather than in wallowing in sadness, reminiscing what we lost. I knew James and Lily as students under my care at Hogwarts first and foremost, but they revealed to be dear friends as they grew older. I remember the first day…”

The words blurred in Remus’ ears, sounding meaningless and hollow, empty, almost…false, if one would dare to call them as such. They did not appear to hold any real value, and as speaker after speaker would pronounce their own valedictory, Remus doubted more and more whether these people actually knew or cared about James and Lily. All they ever seemed to remember was how good of a witch Lily was considering she was a Muggleborn, how wonderful of a Potioneer she was, how spectacular and outstanding James’ Quidditch skills were, how pleasant of a boy he was even if rather mischievous, and on and on and on. It was incredibly and unexpectedly painful for Remus, to whom Lily and James meant so much more than that, to hear people deliver such vain and barren speeches.

“They deserve better than a listing of their accomplishments, Lily and James deserve better,” he thought ragingly.

All throughout, he noticed Minerva, who sat quietly at the first row, only distinguishable from this far by her telltale pointy black hat, remained quiet. Remus deemed it rather surprising, but paid it no real mind, knowing she must have her reasons. Ever since the war, that peculiar bond they had formed on his very first day when she welcomed him had strengthened, grown into something deeper, maybe a friendship. Minerva McGonagall was probably one of the last few remaining people Remus still trusted. Finally, the tall, thin, balding man whose name Remus had failed to catch finished talking with a mere “We will miss them”, and Dumbledore walked up to the small stage once more.

“Before we bid farewell to our dear friends forever, does anyone else wish to speak?”

After a brief moment of hesitation, Remus walked up to him from the back of the gathering.

“Yes, Professor, there are some things I would like to mention before we let go of James and Lily, some things I believe they would have liked to hear,” he started, nodded faintly.

The gathered witches and wizards watched him expectantly, mistrust painted on the faces of a few at the sight of a skinny, tall, scarred, and shabbily dressed young man.

“Lily Evans hated lilies you know, James learned that the hard way in 5th year when she threw the humongous bouquet he had offered her in an attempt to woo her right at his face. Some said Lily could have been a fine Chaser with such precision of throw. James later learned that the way to Lily’s heart was blush roses. Anyhow, I believe it is time we change…this,” he said gesturing vaguely at the extravagant decorations, a slight moue of disgust forming on his bony face.

Whispering an incantation, he waved his wand briefly in the air and the lilies disappeared in a light poof of sparkles, replaced by creamy white roses with very faint blush pink cores.

“Better isn’t it?” he asked rhetorically, laughing a little to himself at the disbelieving looks painted on some of the elder witches and wizards. “Lily and James were two very special and talented people as you all already mentioned, but to me, they were important in a very different way, I remember them for other reasons which I believe, are just as significant. Lily Evans Potter and James Potter were two of the very first people who made me feel safe and welcomed, who made me feel truly loved, who made me feel at home. I trusted them with my life, and I still would if they were among us. I could spend hours here in front of you, telling you hundreds of stories about them, both sad and happy, about the time James fell off his broom into the Black Lake while attempting to impress Lily with some crazy stunt, about the time Lily was paired up with James in Potions and nearly died of stress and frustration, considering James was practically hopeless at Potions. I could tell you about the time they had a picnic under the stars at the top of the Astronomy Tower and Si…”

Remus choked on the word, feeling his throat tighten around it, refusing to let it go.

“And some friends and I,” he continued, sighing shakily, “found them and scared them into believing there was a ghost haunting them, although it was James who was more afraid if truth be told, Lily was too busy laughing and making fun of him.”

Some people in the audience cracked a faint smile at that.

“What I mean to say is, we can remember Lily and James for the many deeds they accomplished during their lives and for the wonderful stories we have of them. But we could also simply remember them as wonderful people who worked tirelessly to be good and make this world a little brighter, as people who cared for and loved everyone who was in need, as people who always strived to be a better version of themselves. I saw James and Lily as examples of kindness we should all attempt to live up to, and it is how I wish to remember them. I…”

Remus didn’t know what else to say, it felt like he had shared so much already, yet spoken so little of them, and none of the things swirling in his confused mind right now felt right to share with these strangers. It was simply too much, he wasn’t even sure he had already accepted the deaths of his friends, a part of him was still in deep denial, believing hopelessly and foolishly that neither James nor Lily nor Peter were gone, that it was all a terrible nightmare he would wake up soon from. Sirius wasn’t even worth mentioning anymore, he couldn’t think about him. Not today, when his focus should be entirely on Lily and James. From the first row, Remus saw Minerva smile at him gently, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks which appeared so pale against the darkness of her robes. He mustered a faint mirthless smile in response, before turning away, tears welling in his eyes. Desperately, he clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into the calloused skin of his palms, trying to distract himself with the sharp pain, doing anything just to forget what was going on around him. He left the stage like that, and walked away from the ceremony, refusing to turn back again, even though he felt a sharp stare drilling holes into his back. Dumbledore probably. Finally, he stopped and willed himself to glance back at least one last time at the lifeless bodies of his friends. At that precise moment, Dumbledore waved his wand, and the flower bed went up in silvery-white crackling flames. Only two white marble caskets remained when they died away. The charred petals of white roses which had burned in the fire softly twirled down on the stone, gentle and dead.

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Nine: The One with the Roof

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3082

Sometimes, letting loose of all inhibitions can be a good thing. It could help release stress and create a new sense of relaxation. Or it could create chaos, and let secrets fall from loose lips. And typically, that's what intoxication did to most. And Lily Osborne was no different than others when it came down to it. The lock on her lips came loose whenever alcohol slides past them. But loose lips sink ships. Hence why, before entering the compound, Lily took a personal vow to not let a single drop go past her lips. She not only wanted to remember the night she partied with the Avengers, but she wanted to ensure that nothing would slip out. Not even her attraction to the Winter Soldier.

"Do we just let ourselves in or...?" Rose wondered after finally managing to get Lily out of the car and up to the porch of the large compound. Lily seriously wondered what they needed all of this space for. She understood the whole space for the training aspect but was this really what they needed? Seemed a bit excessive to her. But then again, she was raised in a modest eco-friendly home and lived in a small colonial-style home herself.

"I mean I assume we knock? But maybe superheroes do it differently?" Gen answered, biting on her lip before reaching between the two sisters and knocking on the silver door in front of them. No answer. She tried one more time, but all three collectively agreed that if they could hear the music from outside, there was no chance in hell that they could hear the knocks on the door, "I take it that we just go in."

Rose's manicured hand reached forward and twisted the doorknob, pushing open the door to be greeted by loud music and warm bodies moving around each other. Either dancing or pushing through to get somewhere else. Immediately, Lily's hands clammed up and her entire face burst into a bright shade of ruby red. Her chest heaved up and down at an expeditious rate as her heart rate picked up and air move in and out between her painted lips. She wasn't even in the thick of the party and already her nerves were starting to get the better of her. It didn't help that she was totally sure that this was all a practical joke to embarrass her in front of all of the Avengers and become a laughing stock of Earth’s mightiest heroes. But of course (obviously) this wasn't the case, and everything was being made up in her mind.

Sensing the unease in Lily's demeanour, Rose and Gen hooked their arms into hers and lead the shortest of the three into the compound. The smell of alcohol and a tinge of sweat hit their nostrils like a brick wall, a smell Gen and Rose enjoyed, by Lily found sickening. She wasn't much of a drinker because of the fact she lost control of what came in and out of her mouth, and typically only had a few glasses of wine with Gen or at dinner. But that was it. She never went to bars, never got wasted. Not only because it wasn't her thing, but because she was busy with a baby in her twenties. Something that most people her age wouldn't dream of until they, well, were her age. But Lily wouldn't change it for the world, she got a beautiful son out of it and couldn't be more thankful for that outcome. If it were with a different person and under different circumstances, she might have been more thankful, but, you can't control everything.

"Oh look there's Mr. Odinson- oh he's coming towards us." Gen beamed while attempting to hide the excitement that grew in her chest, "Oh would you look at him. The things I would do for that ma-"

"Ladies!" the God boomed, cutting Genevieve off from finishing her thirsty comment. His shoulders stood wide in front of the three girls, and Lily barely hit the top of his chest in height. He was truly a godly figure and Lily couldn't help but shrink her shoulders, becoming vulnerable. She couldn't help but grow nervous around someone like Thor, he was a literal God. All she was a god at was making an excellent pancake, "I'm so glad you three could make it. go and mingle, I shall steal lady Lily away from you two."

Before Lily could protest or tighten her grip on her best friend and sister’s arms, they slipped away and into the crowd together, sending a wink back to the nervous mother that now stood alone with the God of Thunder. Her breath hitched in her throat when the man previously mentioned entwined his arm with Lily's, leading her away from the entrance and towards the bar that was set up near the side. Thor was boasting about something, but Lily's ears drowned it out as the bass of the music thundered in her ears. People’s laughter and conversations created a nerve-wracking rhythm that danced through her mind. She felt the noises hammering away at her heart that thudded against her ribcage at a worrying pace.

"...Captain Rogers or Sam shall be here in a few to take you to see Sergeant Barnes." Were the last words Lily caught before Thor took off to go tell ancient Asgardian stories to the elder veterans that stood around a table. Again, he was gone too quickly for Lily to protest, leaving her alone at the bar, biting on her bottom lip like it was her last meal before death.

Her hazel eyes turned from the ground back up to scan the crowd that had congregated in the compound, either tipsy, drunk, or sober. Everyone seemed to be having a lovely time, except for Lily. Instead, she stood alone at the bar, picking at hangnails and scuffing her feet off the ground. At that moment, she believed this entire thing to be a mistake. Her heart hammered wildly inside of her and she wanted nothing more than to go home and snuggle in bed with Joey. And, if she had it her way, Hunter would be there too. But instead, she was stuck here at the avengers compound, awaiting Captain America or the Falcon. Life was crazy, sure, but Lily never expected she'd experience something as surreal as this. Let alone want to go home from it.

"You look down, Ms. Osborne," a somewhat familiar voice echoed from behind her. Turning her head, Lily came face to face with Sam Wilson, aka the Falcon. Seeing a face she knew created a sense of comfort inside of Lily, Even though she didn't really know him that well. But he had been so kind to her and to Hunter, Lily couldn't help but feel welcomed by him, by someone who was just a genuinely nice guy, "Why the long face? Not a fan of parties?" It was as if the man was able to read Lily's mind...because that's exactly why.

"That's an understatement. But I couldn't exactly decline an invitation from a God, now could I?" Lily smiled gently, leaning against the bar with her hands clasped in front of her, elbows placed on top of the glowing counter, "Plus, Rose and Gen would never let me say no. Hunter's at his dads so..."

Sam nodded along as she spoke, but Lily caught the slight excitement that flickered across his dark eyes when she mentioned her younger sister. A small smirk pulled at the corners of Lily's lips as she ordered herself ice water with lemon. This too seemed to catch Sam's interest and he leaned forward slightly while nodding down towards the clear liquid in the cup that Lily held. It was cold against her skin, and she was thankful for that because her hands felt as though they had been set on fire.

"Not a drinker?" Sam wondered, eyes glancing over the blonde’s shoulder as she sipped on the cool drink. Lily knew that she'd probably be questioned about the fact she wasn't drinking, and her answer would always be the same. She didn't want to embarrass herself. Especially not in front of this crowd of people.

"Don't really feel like making a fool of myself in front of the Avengers," Lily chuckled, flattening out her dress with her pale hand, "Happy birthday though. Quite the celebration."

The conversation between the two stayed light and airy. Nothing deep being spilled, and no mention of the elusive Bucky Barnes. Whom, might I add, was currently nowhere to be found. Despite Lily's not-so-sly glances around her gave away the fact she had been looking for him. She wouldn't admit it, but she was secretly hoping she'd be able to spend the night getting to know the quiet man. He just looked like he had so many stories to tell, such character hidden behind those gorgeous ice blue eyes. Anytime that Lily caught them, she had always felt fireworks being set off from behind her, as though she had found the one that made her heart whole.

"And here comes the man you've been looking for," Sam teased while nodding over Lily's shoulder. Perhaps a bit too quickly, the blonde turned her head around to spot those same eyes she had found herself thinking about just moments ago, "I see you got my text, terminator."

"How could I miss it, you sent me seven." Bucky's raspy voice called as he took his place beside Sam at the bar, turning his attention to the blonde that stood across from the two, "Oh, Lily. It's nice to see you. I assume that's why Thor was on my phone."

Speechless. No words formed in Lily's mind to return back to the conversation. All she could think about was how beautiful Bucky looked in his black dress pants and blue shirt that matched almost perfectly to Lily's. The top few buttons were left open, exposing a bit of hair growth peaking over, and sculpted collarbones laying beneath the man’s neck. With the way his chest flexed, Lily was sure that the rest of the buttons would give way and pop off one by one, exposing what Lily could only imagine. Olive skin, littered with beautiful scars across a chiselled core. Just the thought made Lily's mouth run dry, which resulted in her chugging back the water she held in her hand.

"Nice to see you too-" Lily finally responded, cutting herself off quickly. God, damn it. Her voice had cracked halfway through the sentence and a heavy blush returned onto Lily's face, her hands becoming slick with sweat once again. How did he do this to her? Was it the eyes? The soft yet deep tone of his voice? The way he seemed to relax around her and Sam? Whatever it was, it had a lasting effect on Lily. Even after she hadn't seen, nor spoken to him in three weeks. And yet here he stood in all of his glory at his close friend’s birthday party.

"Well, I'll leave you guys to it." Sam grinned, patting Bucky on the shoulder before leaning in to whisper something in the tall man’s ear. This resulted in Bucky swatting at the birthday boy as he took off into the crowd after thanking Lily for the birthday wishes. Thus, leaving Bucky and Lily alone at the bar together.

Both were quiet people. Bucky because of the mental trauma he had suffered for over seventy years, and Lily because it was simply in her DNA. She was born quiet, never having anything more to say than what was required. In university, Professors and peers tried and tried again to try and get her to contribute her opinion the same way she did on paper. Her mind was so far beyond her years, and the intelligence she had was unmatched, but she kept it to herself. She saw the world as it was, and by keeping quiet, she was trying to spare herself. She saw how cruel the world around her was, and just how awful people can be. Especially after the relentless teasing, she went through in high school as a nerd-type student. The whole high school archetype was stupid, but Lily fell where she did.

"I won't lie, Thor dropped hints all day that you were coming," Bucky commented while sipping his whiskey, taking a few steps towards the blonde, "Part of me didn't think you would. but uh..." his voice trailed off. Those mesmerizing eyes glanced across Lily's face as if trying to read her reaction. They dipped down farther to look at the radiating outfit that Rose had pulled together, appreciating the natural beauty that stood before him. He could barely speak. But alas, he continued, "I'm glad you did...Steve mentioned if no one else did, he was going to invite you."

So it wasn't just a joke. A weight seemed to release itself off of Lily's shoulders as the man spoke. They were going to invite her here one way or another. And he was actually glad she was here. Not embarrassed or annoyed. It was as if he actually enjoyed her company? But Lily had a hard time believing anyone enjoyed her company most of the time. She found herself to be dull and a bit on the boring and mundane side...but maybe for an ex-assassin, a bit of domesticity and simplicity was what Bucky needed. An escape from the world of avenging and world-saving. To become the man that he had dreamed of being in the ‘40s. Meeting a nice girl, settling down, and dying of old age, happy. But, neither Lily nor Bucky wanted to get too far ahead of themselves. This was only the second time they've really hung out.

But love and fate worked in mysterious ways.

"I'm not a party person, but Rose and Gen figured it'd be good for me to get out of the house while Hunter was at his dads," Lily responded, finger running around the rim of her water glass, deep eyes avoiding any contact with the man in front of her. Her heart thundered wildly inside of her rib cage, throat going dry as he continued to advance closer to her. Though she typically would, Lily didn't move. she never worried that he would try anything disrespectful. He was careful, calculated. He knew already that wasn't who she was, but yet, stuck around.

"Ypur son! He's cute. You two look alike," Bucky commented, biting down on his chapped lips. Lily felt his gaze on her and she couldn't stop herself from lifting her eyes to meet his. The stories they told, the horrors they've seen. He looked so forlorn and tired. Part of Lily wished she could steal him away and keep him away from the messiness of the world. The people that wanted to hurt him. Give him the simple life with blueberry pancakes on Sundays and walks with Joey. Movie nights with Hunter...dinner dates. But his voice snapped her out of her trance, "You said a few weeks ago you and Hunter’s father were split...mind me asking why?"

"What?" Lily called, furrowing her eyebrows and leaning forward. With the music blaring and people talking, the blonde was unable to make out what Bucky had said. Her eyes focused on his lips, but to no avail, she wasn't able to decipher what he was saying, "I can't hear you! Music is too loud!" Lily exclaimed, Exaggerating her mouth in hopes he'd be able to figure out what she was saying. Maybe years of being an infamous HYDRA agent taught him to read lips?

He nodded, signalling that he had understood. The brunette reached his hand out in front of him, offering his flesh hand to the mother in front of him. Lily panicked instantly. Her hands were all sweaty and shrivelled because of her nerves, and she knew it would be just too embarrassing to even think about putting her hand into his. If it were Bucky's metal arm? Well, maybe Lily would have considered it because of the lack of feeling (as far as she knew). But it would have probably left some sort of residue. But, she had to think on her feet. Something Lily was actually quite good at. Discreetly, the blonde slid her palms across her dress, riding the sweat from her skin, before sliding her right hand into his left.

Where he was leading her? Lily had no idea. He could be leading her to her doom for all she knew. Maybe whatever the secret nazi intelligence agency that corrupted him had put inside his mind was still there, and Lily triggered it. Or maybe he was some creep, like most guys Lily had met at parties and bars, well, the limited ones she had been to. That's where she met Scott. In a pretty similar scenario. Lily had been dropped at the bar by Gen while she went off to mingle and dance, and a handsome man approached. A light conversation had started and Lily was informed his name was Scott Harvey. Her later husband and baby daddy, then ex-husband. A little voice inside of Lily's mind told her it would be the same, that it's just the beginning of the same cycle. But a small piece of her heart believed that this was different. Meanwhile, she didn't even know what this was, to begin with. As far as she knew, they were barely even acquaintances. Lily had only met him a hand full of times and only knew what the textbooks told her.

So thinking this would be like Scott? And that she'd end up marrying Bucky? That was a preposterous thought. Once again, she had just met him. And sure, Lily had a history of getting her hopes up, but she tried to restrain herself this time. Remind herself that there may be nothing but friendship here.

But then again, what did she really know? She was a single mother being lead to the roof by an ex-HYDRA assassin that had the ability to kill her and make it look like an accident. Anything was possible when it came to the people around her. What Lily never expected though, was for Bucky Barnes to lead her to the roof of the Avengers compound where a few chairs sat around a fireplace(?), underneath the stars. He gestured for her to sit, and Lily complied without hesitation. Before she knew it, the fire was lit and he sat across from her, a comfortable sigh escaping his lips.

"Tell me everything about you, Lily Osborne."