#Cold room in Hunter valley

[blues824]

For the Christmas ask, may I please request Malleus and prompt 30? 🙏

You requested: “Baby, It’s Cold Outside…” from the Fluffcember Prompt List

Malleus Draconia

Despite being the future king of the great nation of Briar Valley, he really knew how to humble himself for you, his beloved Child of Man. For example, right now. You were currently wrapped up in the arms of your lover as he was refusing to let you go, pouting a bit like a child.

“Tsunotarou, I need to go back to Ramshackle! Grim is probably hungry!!” You were definitely struggling, but it was all in vain.

“He can fend for himself. Felines have a history of being hunters.” Clearly, he did not know Grim that well.

“I have homework!”

“I can help you.”

“I’m hungry!”

“We have food.”

“Your tamagotchi is hungry!” That caused a bit of a distraction, and you were able to slip from him and make a run for it. You got close… if only the large door wasn’t closed for the night. Then, you were scooped up into familiar arms, and you let out a groan of annoyance.

“Are you really trying to leave me, darling?”

“I’m not trying to leave you, Malleus. I just want to go back to Ramshackle because I have someone I need to take care of.”

“But it’s too frigid outside. It is snowing, and you don’t have nearly enough layers to keep warm. You’re better off here, Child of Man.”

“Malleus, look at me. I’m more than prepared enough to trudge through snow.” It was true. You had thermal wear underneath all of your clothes, and your boyfriend insisted upon buying out an entire winter wear store just for you to be warm. He even got snow boots for you.

“Just stay over for the night. I can have my knights go to your dormitory and bring Grim here if you are so concerned about his well-being.”

A few moments of silence passed over you both, save for him carrying you to his room, placing you gently on his bed, and laying next to you. However, you turned away from him, still a bit angry and annoyed.

This little facade of yours only lasted a few seconds, though, because he started pressing gentle and fleeting kisses on your neck, trailing down your arm, and down to your fingertips as he held your hand in his.

“I apologize, darling, but I don’t want you to get sick.”

You turned over, facing him and placing a kiss on his lips.

“It’s alright, Tsunotarou. I know that you’re just doing what’s best for me.”

[roseghoul26]

Charles Smith x gn!Reader

"Keeping your hand on his cheek, your lips brushed the shell of his ear. 'Although, I do think you looked rather beautiful.' He practically shuddered, a pleased smile on your mouth as you leaned back again. Keeping only a few inches between your faces, you watched as his eyes flicked down to your lips before returning up. 'Yeah?' You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low." Synopsis: A brush with hypothermia forces you and Charles to camp out in an abandoned cabin. Having to resort to some more intimate means of survival, will you be able to keep your feelings in check for the hunter, or will the proximity force you to confess?

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hypothermia, Huddling for Warmth, yes this is a cuddle for warmth fic, idc if its cheesy, Oral Sex, Gender-Neutral Reader, Fem Anatomy for Reader, Face-Sitting, Love Confessions, but in a twist its not the reader who gets frozen, surprise!

Author's Note: listened to chappell roan the entire time while writing this (hence the title). i also got so distracted by stardew valley my addiction has returned also, there’s a moment where the reader touches charles’ hair. as a non-indigenous person, i’m not fully educated when it comes to hair and the importance it holds in native american culture. i did research, but i could still be wrong. if i have made any errors, please let me know, and i will change it. 

If you never had to see snow again, you’d die happy. 

Tightening the fur coat around your body, you tried to preserve what heat you had left in you. The cold air of Colter was like a leech, sucking you dry of any warmth and joy. And it wasn’t just affecting you, you noticed. Glancing around the room, everyone seemed to be in a similar situation, with as many furs and clothes on their bodies as they huddled around the laughably small fire. 

The gang had been in Colter for about a week, hiding away from the law after the disaster that was Blackwater. You don’t remember much from that day, most of it a blur in your memories, but you remember the bloodshed. Pointless, ruthless bloodshed. You hoped you’d never see something like that again. 

Shivering, you almost regretted giving your extra jacket to Abigail, who had wrapped it around Jack. You were only feet from the fire, but it might as well have been hundreds of miles away with the way it was doing nothing to warm you. With a huff, you rubbed your fingers together, simply sitting and passing the time until someone asked you to do something or you had to go back on guard duty. That was all you could do, really, the snow and remote location making it impossible for you to do your normal robbing and thieving. 

There were many times during this week that you’d debated leaving the gang after you all made it out of Colter. You’d only joined about a year and a half ago, Dutch personally inviting you to his group after hearing about your notoriety across the states. Sure, it was nice to have a group like this, but this wasn’t what you signed up for, especially the events at Blackwater. You were promised opportunity and freedom, not brutality and hiding and cold-blooded murder. You wondered, would it be easy to slip away?

Sighing, you slumped forward, and your  legs were numb from sitting on the hard floor. You were on the precipice of coming to a decision, but there were still some things preventing you from taking the leap. You’d become somewhat close with the members of the gang, your lone wolf attitude dissipating as you created bonds with the others. It was easy to get along with Arthur, the two of you becoming fast friends, frequently doing jobs together. You spent most nights chatting with the girls in camp, chatting until late in the night. You respected Hosea, and even Dutch for some time, the recent events shattering that respect for him. To some degree you’d created a connection with each member of the camp, keeping you tethered to one place. 

There was one person in particular, however, that kept pushing those thoughts of leaving out of your mind. Charles Smith, the taciturn hunter that you’d become weirdly fond of these past few months. You’re not sure what you’d call your relationship with the man. The two of you were friendly, maybe even friends. When Dutch sent you out on jobs together, it always ended well, working together quite decently, if you’d say so yourself. 

Still, you wished you were closer with him, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. You found it hard to try and initiate conversation with him, never quite knowing what to say that wouldn’t make you seem like a fool. And when you would talk to him, it felt like you were just talking at him, but if he was annoyed by you, he never showed. He’d just politely nod along, adding a few words here and there. 

But you knew he didn’t dislike you, finding him frequently looking at you around camp, just silently observing. Whenever you’d catch him, he’d just give you a polite smile, before turning away to do something else. Every time he did it, you found yourself grow bashful, your heart skipping in your chest. His starting was certainly not helping the infatuation you had with him.

Yes, your stupid heart had fallen for him, making it hurt to even entertain the idea of leaving. It was ridiculous and irresponsible to have feelings for him, and you knew that. They’d been there since he joined, and you figured that they would’ve gone away by now, but that was months ago. You’d never met a man like him before, someone so strong and fearsome, yet honorable and kind at the exact same time, and you figured that’s why you were so drawn to him.

Arthur knew about your feelings for the man, drunkley telling him during a night out at the bar in Blackwater a few months ago. He almost said something to Charles, who was somewhere in the same bar that night, claiming that ‘this life is unpredictable’ and ‘you gotta do somethin’ before it’s too late’, but you quickly shut that down with a swift kick to the shins. But that didn’t mean he stopped asking you if you’d done anything yet, and each time you’d respond with ‘no’. 

You knew that Charles didn’t think of you that way. You’re unpredictable, reckless, fiery, everything opposite of what Charles is. Where you were chaos, he was calm. Fire, water. And you didn’t want to ruin what relationship you had with him, so you kept your mouth shut (and never got too drunk around him).

A gust of sharp cold wind and the creak of a door broke you from your thoughts, a shiver wracking your body as you turned to see who just entered the cabin. In some cruel timing from the universe, the man who had just been haunting your mind walked in, a fresh dusting of snow hitting the ground as he shook out his jacket. A chorus of greetings came from the group collected around the fire, a gentle smile coming from you before you turned back to face the fire. Charles calling out your name had you slowly turning to him again. 

“Will you go hunting with me? The deer me and Arthur caught didn’t last as long as we’d hoped.” You now noticed the bow in his hand, along with a small quiver of arrows.

“I mean, sure,” you stood up, your cold muscles aching as you stretched, “but I ain’t much of a hunter, ya know. I usually end up scarin’ away animals instead of catchin’ ‘em. The others might be more well-suited for this.”

“But I’m asking you. And I can’t exactly do it myself.” Charles held the bow and arrows out for you to grab. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” Not like I could ever say no to you, you thought as you took the weapon and slung it over your shoulder, and secured the quiver on your hip. “Let’s go.”

With a nod, Charles opened the door, holding it open to let you step outside into the harsh Colter weather. Wincing at the bright light bouncing off the white snow, you were temporarily blinded as you made your way to where your horses were, Charles not far behind you. A light snowfall came down around you as you walked, not terrible visibility wise, but enough to be obvious. You just hoped that it wouldn’t pick up later. 

There was probably a good foot-and-a-half of snow on the ground, making your movement sluggish and awkward. From what little you knew about tracking, though, it meant that it would be easy to pick up an animal's track, so for that you were somewhat grateful. 

It didn’t take long for you to reach your horses, and you went to mount up, only to notice that your horse just wasn’t there. Spinning around, you looked to see if maybe she got unhitched and wandered somewhere nearby, but there was nothing. Whistling, you waited a few moments, seeing if you’d hear the sound of hoofbeats and winnings, but there was nothing. She was just gone.

As Charles mounted, looking equally as confused as you were, you turned and  looked to see who was currently on guard duty, thinking maybe they had seen something. “Javier!” You called out, the poor man nearly jumping out of his skin at the sudden loud noise. “Where’s Hera?”

“Arthur took her!” He shouted back, and you couldn’t help groaning in annoyance. I’m gonna kill you, Arthur Morgan. 

“And you let him?” Javier had made his way over to you now, and you saw him open his mouth to respond, but you stopped him with a wave. “Nevermind, it’s not your fault or your responsibility. I’m just… frustrated.” You took a deep breath, and a cloud left your lips as you exhaled.  “Where’d Arthur go?” You heard the ground crunch behind you as Charles approached on Taima. 

“I dunno,” Javier shrugged. “Him, Dutch, Micah, and Bill went out a few minutes ago, he’s been borrowing everyone else’s horse since his died. Guess it was Hera’s turn.”

“Well, shit,” you sighed, crossing your arms. “You don’t reckon they’ll be back soon, right? Maybe they forgot somethin’?” You missed the way Charles let out an amused huff, your back facing him as you conversed with Javier. 

Javier lightly chuckled. “Look, if you need to go, I’ll let you use Boaz for a bit. It’s not like I’ll be needing him for a bit,” he gestured to the repeater currently in his hands. “If anything happens to him though…” he threatened, gesturing again to the weapon in his hands.

You were about to respond, but Charles beat you to it. “Or you could ride with me. If you’d like.”

You tried to keep your face neutral as you turned to respond, but you had to stop and glare at Javier who was sniggering. Apparently your facial expressions weren’t as subtle as you believed. Thank God you had your back turned, then. 

You turned again, and when you weren't so rudely interrupted by Javier’s childish antics, you responded to Charles. “Are you sure?”

He extended his non-injured hand to you as he nodded. “We gotta get moving though. Only a few hours of sunlight left.”

“Alright.” You linked your hand with his, letting him help you on to the back of his horse with ease. Javier had long since left, already halfway back to his guard post, not before giving you a knowing smile. As you wrapped your hands around his waist, you tried and failed to keep your breathing even, your heartrate picking up substantially. 

Sighing, you refrained from resting your head against his back. This was pure torture, but you knew you were going to enjoy it.

Thank you, Arthur Morgan… I’m still gonna kill you, though. 

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

He wasn’t quite sure why he offered to let you ride with him on Taima; he was just making it harder for himself to stay away from you. He scolded himself, because someone else had your heart, and he would just end up hurting his own if he kept doing things like this. 

The two of you had sped out of Colter, Charles setting a brisk pace that made the air bite at his skin. The pain was good, as it distracted him from thinking of you. You, who subconsciously shifted closer to him to shield yourself from the air. He felt you adjust behind him until his larger frame was shielding you entirely. 

He expected you to have started talking by now, making some comment about the weather or cursing Arthur out. When you didn’t he felt himself start to grow a bit panicked. Did I make you uncomfortable? Is this too much?

He kept his voice steady, and he gently called out your name. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“I figure that must come as a relief.” 

I could listen to you for hours, he thought. I don’t ever want to stop hearing your voice. “Are you alright?”

He felt you shift behind him, your hands tightening where they sat on his waist. Your touch wasn’t even improper, yet he still found his breath hitching in his throat. Charles just prayed that the howling winds around the two of you drowned it out. “I think so. It just… this place is really terrible.” When he nodded in agreement, you continued. “And I’ve got a lot on my mind. Blackwater, the gang, my future… It's a little bit overwhelming.”

“Do you…  want to talk about it?” He offered, and you sighed. 

“I… I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout Blackwater, ‘bout everything we did wrong, what we should’ve done differently, the choices we made. But I especially can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout that girl that Dutch murdered. The way he killed her, no mercy or falter, I ain’t even seen nothin’ like that from him before. Or maybe I chose to look away before…” you trailed off.

“You’re not the one who pulled the trigger. Dutch is the only person guilty of that.”

“Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger, but I’m sure as hell ain’t innocent. I could’ve- should’ve done somethin’. There was plenty of time for me to.”

“Don’t go beating yourself up about the past. The only thing we can hope to do is learn from it and continue on towards the future.”

“But the future is just as terrifying as the past! I’m scared for the gang, for its future. We’ve become so bloodthirsty, and now all Dutch talks about is revenge.” Your voice was becoming more and more distressed. “Is that what we’ve turned into? A bunch of no-good killers who think with their guns? I ain’t- I don’t wanna be that. That ain’t what I joined up for.”

Charles didn’t know how to respond to that. He’d noticed that shift in the gang over the last few weeks, the members become quicker to jump to violence and bloodshed. He wasn’t a saint, the blood on his hands equal to yours, but he was even becoming disturbed by the amount of unnecessary killings happening. 

“I’m thinkin’ ‘bout leaving.” Your voice was barely a whisper, like you were ashamed to say it. Charles stilled, shock running through his system. “Once we get out of here. This… this isn’t what I wanna do. I don’t wanna be associated with the Van Der Linde gang if it’s gonna continue heaidn’ in the direction it’s goin’. And I don’t wanna find myself at the end of a lawman’s barrel, noose ‘round my neck.”

“Oh.” Charles found himself at an impasse; did he just keep his mouth shut, or say something that might reveal too much? If you truly wanted to leave, then he didn’t want to guilt you into staying by revealing his true feelings. He understood why you wanted to leave, those same thoughts frequenting his mind as well, but he’d found a reason to stay: you. He hadn't told Arthur that when he asked why Charles was still hanging around a few days ago. His conversation with the other man when they hunted had solidified his stay with the gang, for better or for worse.

Did you feel the same way? You fool, Charles chastised himself. They don’t want you that way.

“Does anyone else know?” 

“No,” you sighed. “You’re the only one.”

A selfish part of him was glad that he was the only one that knew, but he quickly pushed those thoughts away. “Well,” he began, “the only thing I can say is to not do something that you’ll regret… and just know that there’s a lot of people here that will really miss you if you decide to leave.” I will miss you so much that it hurts.

He felt your head connect with his back as you slumped forward, and he jolted at the contact. “Why can’t you just make the decision for me, Charles? I trust your judgment.”

Stay. Please, stay, he screamed in his head. “I can’t tell you what to do, how to live your life. Unfortunately, the decision comes to you,” was his reply. 

“You’re right. You’re always right, Charles,” you laughed half-heartedly. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. Still got a ways until I have to.”

“Whatever decision you come to, I’ll support you.” Liar. “Just… don’t leave without saying goodbye, you hear?”

“I promise. Now,” your usual chipperness returned to your voice, “where are we headin’?”

He explained that he was taking the two of you to Lake Isabella, following the Spider Gorge down. The lake had started to melt, meaning animals were more likely to start coming out as the weather warmed. As the two of you rode, you kept close to him, significantly closer than you were when you left. 

Charles pretended not to notice.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

There wasn’t much to look at on the ride down. Everything was white, splashes of black rock breaking up the monotonous landscape, and the occasional tree made itself known. There weren’t any animals, not even a rabbit. It was like you and Charles were the only living souls in the area.

You only spotted a couple of buildings, two of them a small cabin that could house one or two people. One was absolutely destroyed, time and weather causing the ceiling to collapse in, only a skeleton remaining. The other still stood, smoke coming out of the chimney, but you had no idea if the occupants were home or not. 

Taking a mental note of the building, before returning your attention back forward. Charles seemed to be content with just riding in silence, so you settled against him, your head nearly resting on his shoulder. You hadn’t meant to spill so much to Charles, and you certainly hadn’t meant to tell him that you thought about leaving. It’s just that you felt so comfortable with him that you couldn’t help the words from coming out, and you felt ten pounds lighter because of it. 

You didn’t want to drag another person into your troubles, especially over something so trivial in comparison to what the rest of the gang was going through. A part of you wanted this to be the moment in all those cheesy romances you read where the love interest confesses their feelings in order to make the main character stay. But this was real life, and this was Charles you were talking about, the man who would put everyone’s needs before his, even if it hurt. And besides, Charles had never done or said anything that gave you the impression that he had feelings for you. From what you could tell, he saw you as a friend, and nothing else.

Right?

God, you were so desperate for the man you held on to. 

He made no comment when you did actually rest your head on his shoulder. If he did ask why, you’d just say you were cold. You knew you just wanted to pretend that he was yours. 

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. It did little to calm your erratic heart. 

Eventually, the partially frozen Lake Isabella came into view. This area wasn’t too unfamiliar to either you or Charles, having been there a few days prior to dispatch a group of O’Driscolls. Having opened your eyes a few moments prior, you were able to make out a few deer drinking from the newly exposed lake water. You gestured to them, but Charles had already seen them, bringing Taima to a halt behind a large bush.

By this time, the snow had begun to pick up, the sheets coming down obscuring your view ever so slightly. But it wasn’t enough to force you indoors. 

Dismounting as quietly as you could, you readied the bow in your hands, letting Charles lead the way as he snuck closer to them. It was almost supernatural, the way he was able to move so silently. For someone of his stature, you’d never expect him to be able to move so quietly and with such ease, yet here he was. You tried your best to move like him, taking a bit longer as you followed in his footsteps. Charles led you around the edge of the lake, the shore edge mere inches from your feet, occasionally splashing against your shoes. 

Luckily, the deer hadn’t noticed either you or Charles, still drinking without a care in the world. He had stopped by now, moving to the side to let you move ahead. The deer were in range by now, and you only needed to move a few feet closer, making you halt underneath a large tree. The branches drooped under the weight of the snow, a few globs falling off and hitting the ground around you. 

Weirdly enough, you felt at peace. Not because of the hunting, but because of the man who stood a few yards behind you. You felt safe under his gaze, like nothing could hurt you. As you drew the arrow back, you let out a confused noise as the deer suddenly scattered, spooked by something you couldn’t see. 

You turned to look back at Charles, but you realized then that you probably shouldn't've had your guard down so much. A large weight dropped on you from the tree, too heavy and too warm to be just snow. You let out a startled cry, blocking out Charles shouting out your name, panic seeping into his voice. 

Whatever fell on you landed on your back, your face pressed in the snow as you lay on your stomach. It clicked now that there was someone on you, a hand yanking your head back by your hair, warm breath assaulting your face as your attacker spoke. You couldn’t quite make out what exactly he was saying, snow and shock causing your hearing to be spotty. All you were able to make out were a few curses, the word “kill” multiple times, and some racist phrases aimed toward Charles.

Even before the initial shock had worn off, you were fighting back, squirming and moving desperately against the man’s grip. He just laughed, then you heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. He rested the barrel against the back of your neck, the cold metal pressing against the exposed skin. Dread washed over you, numbing your senses far beyond what the cold could do. With the way the man gripped your head, you couldn’t move it, and you strained your eyes as you looked around, desperate to find Charles. Is he alright? Please, let him be alright. 

You saw a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye, and as soon as the weight was on you, it was gone. An alarmed yell left your attacker as he was tackled off of you, being pushed a fair distance before falling onto the frozen Lake Isabella. Rolling over, your hand fell into the cold water, and you quickly pulled it back.

Standing as quickly as you could, the world spun for a moment, your body confused with the many different orientations you were just in. Pressing your back against the tree for stability, you watched as Charles and your attacker rolled far across the ice. You saw the distinct green handkerchief around his neck, and you couldn’t help the exasperated groan that left you. No matter where you went or what you did, you couldn’t escape the O’Driscolls. 

Shouts from behind you had you spinning around, quickly drawing your revolver, the bow long since discarded on the ground. Three more O’Driscolls came running from the woods, only a few yards away from you now, their cries of alarm coming from the two bodies of their members lying in the snow, which you had just noticed. Keeping your aim steady, you took three shots, the gunshots cracking through the still air. The first one hit right in the heart, the second one finding a home between his eyes, and the third one hit the final O’Driscoll right above the shoulder, merely grazing the skin, and the only non-fatal shot. Still, it caused all three of them to hit the snow.

With the final man falling relatively close to you, you ran over to him. Pulling him up by the scruff of his shirt, you held your revolver right below his chin, the hot metal burning his skin. He could not have been more than eighteen years old, a sliver of childhood innocence still left in his eyes as he stared up at you, fear and pain rendering him mute. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You snarled, pressing the barrel harder into his skin. “Gimme one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right here, boy?”

Your words seemed to go in one ear and out the other, a few tears leaving him as he stared at you blankly. He was shaking, and you wondered how long he’d run with the O’Driscolls for. He was obviously young, and if this was his reaction to being held at gunpoint, you gathered that he didn’t have a whole lot of outlaw experience under his belt. Against every instinct in your body telling you otherwise, you felt yourself loosen your grip on the boy, a pang of sympathy running through you. 

Sighing in exasperation, you holster your gun, a relieved noise leaving him as you did. Glancing forward, you saw two horses hitched to the trees, seemingly the rides that they came in on. “Go,” you waved. “You ain’t even grown.”

“Th-thank you!” He nearly wept, getting to his feet shakily. 

“But if I ever see ya again, especially as a damn O’Driscoll,” your hand hovered above your weapon. “I’ll not hesitate to put a bullet in your head. You hear me?”

“Y-yes.” He clutched at his shoulder. 

“Now go!” you shouted. “Get outta here! Before I change my mind.” As soon as he sped off toward the horses, you turned back toward the lake. Charles stood above your attacker, beating the life out of the man, his face pure crimson. He was using his injured hand, but he paid it no mind. Blow after blow, Charles’s strikes hit true, the thuds echoing across the water.

You really should not have found it as attractive as you did. 

You let yourself watch for a few moments longer, before you were snapping out of it. “Charles!” You called out. Immediately, he was looking up at you, the man below him no longer even on his mind. Wiping away a smear of blood on his cheek, he slowly made his way toward you, his steps slow across the ice. 

Concern etched across his features as his eyes raked over your body, looking for any injury or hurt on you. “Are you alright?” You asked, trying your best to push down the flush of your cheeks as he stalked towards you. He had an almost murderous glint in his eye, his movement predatory; you especially should not have found that attractive. 

“Did he hurt you?” He completely brushed off your question, his eyes wide with panic. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this disheveled and worried before. 

“Only my pride.” You sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but was promptly cut off when the ground beneath him gave way, the weakened ice no longer strong enough to hold him. Immediately, he was submerged under the water, but luckily he was close enough to the shore that it wasn’t too deep. He reemerged seconds later, sputtering and coughing. 

As soon as you heard the crack of the ice, you were running toward the edge, stepping precariously on the ice. In retrospect, it wasn’t the smartest idea, especially when you started walking towards where Charles fell through, but at the time you didn’t care. All that mattered was getting him out. 

Scanning around, you quickly assessed the best way to save him. The hole that was created was way big enough so he could get his arm up, but as soon as he pressed at the ice it shattered, unable to hold anything. As you stepped closer, you felt it begin to break as well, and you quickly moved back to the shore. 

“Fuck…” your hands went to you head, your gloved fingers pulling at your hair. A large stick from the tree you assaulted jumped down from sparked an idea. Grabbing it, you started chipping away at the ice, smashing and breaking it until a path big enough for Charles to go through was created. Standing at the shore, however, you realized  that neither your arms or the stick was long enough to reach the man, who was starting to get dragged down from the weight of the water in his clothes. 

Quickly unhooking your lasso from your belt, you created a loop for him to grab on to, throwing it at him with an accuracy from years and years of practice. It landed right in front of him, and he grabbed on to it as quickly as he could, his movement sluggish. Wrapping it around your hands, you began to pull him to shore. “Hold on!” you shouted at him, and he let out a noise in response. You’d take that over nothing.

It wasn’t incredibly hard to pull him closer, the water helping carry him over. But once he got to the shore, and you discarded the rope, pulling him up onto the land proved to be almost impossible. Grabbing underneath his arms, you pulled with all the strength you had, the muscles in your back and shoulders crying out in pain, but you paid them no mind. It took an incredible amount of effort, but eventually he was fully out of the water, laying splayed out in the cold snow. 

You didn’t let yourself get a moment to recover, instantly running over to his side. Turning his head toward you, you let out a sigh of relief when you say his eyes flutter open. He was absolutely drenched, his heavy winter gear made even heavier with water, and you watched him begin to shake and his teeth begin to shatter. And, if your luck wasn’t already terrible enough, a full on snowstorm had started, causing cold blasts of snow and wind to pelt your bodies. Chalres shivered even harder, and you let out helped sit him upright. “We gotta get you indoors, and soon. You ain’t gonna-” a lump formed in your throat at the thought. “It ain’t gonna be good for you if you stay out here. I’ll need your help, though. I can’t lift you on my own. Just… just find what energy you can to get up. Please.” You couldn’t help the panic in your voice. To say you were scared would be an understatement. 

You’re not quite sure he fully comprehended what you said, but he started to get up, and you forced him to lean a bit of his body weight against you as he did so. When he was up, you slung his arm over your shoulder, nearly sagging under his weight as he nearly collapsed. You called for Taima, whistlin the same pattern you’d heard Charles use for her. 

Within seconds, the sound of neighing and hoofbeats filled your ears, his loyal steed coming to a halt right in front of the two of you. She let out a worried snort, and you reassured her with some soothing noises. “Alright, Charles. Here comes the worst part.” It took quite a bit of maneuvering and effort, but after a minute Charles sat where you did on the ride there. 

His eyes, which were onced unfocused and confused, had regained some clarity to them, and you heard him mutter out your name. You smiled as reassuringly as you could, before you were mounting up on Taima, sitting in the saddle and the reins in your hands. “Hold on, darlin’.” You were too panicked to notice the name slip out, and you took the gasp from Charles as being from the cold. 

With little urging, Taima moved forward, almost immediately breaking into a gallop. You led her back up the trail, heading toward the cabin you saw on the way down. It would take too long to return back to Colter, and with the way the storm raged around you, you doubted either of you would be able to make it. 

As you rode, you felt Charles slump against you, exhaustion taking over his body. You reached behind with one hand, grabbing his knee and shaking him awake. “I know you hate me right now, but I need you to stay awake for me… please.”

He grumbled something in reply, his speech slurred and indecipherable. 

“I’m gonna talk at you, like I always do,” you tried to joke. “And you’re gonna do what you do, which is nod along and pretend you care. Just… just stay awake. You hear me?”

“I care…” you heard him protest, and you just shook your head.

“Uh-huh.” The wind was biting into your cheeks, and your eyes were watering, but you didn’t dare slow. You filled the couple minute ride with your voice, telling stories of your childhood, or random anecdotes you’d picked up from your travels, to recounting the bar fight you’d gotten into a few weeks prior. Charles, despite being exhausted, kept alert, giving one-word responses from time to time. 

He shivered the entire time, and you couldn’t tell if that was worrying or comforting. Panic was steadily bubbling in your chest, finding it hard to keep focus on your stories. Halfway through the ride, much like you did, he rested his head on your shoulder, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. You suppressed a surprised noise as you felt the freezing skin against your own, his nose and lips unnervingly cold. 

“Stay with me, Charles.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

It was cold. 

Everything was cold.

Could hair get cold? It sure felt like it. Charles had never felt such coldness in his life before, and he never wanted to experience it again.

He should’ve never gone on to the ice, his brain was screaming at him.

But he had led with his heart, shoving the man off you and following him on to the ice. As soon as he had seen you go down, the other man on top of you, it was like time had slowed down. He had seen red, the two men attempting to hold him down quickly meeting their ends at the hands of his fury. 

He prided himself on being able to keep calm in situations, his anger rarely ever taking a hold of him, and it had never happened since he joined the gang. Guess that streak was broken now. Not that he had any regrets.

Well, he had a few.

He should’ve registered the footprints in the snow leading up to the base of the tree. He should’ve noticed something was wrong, should’ve not been so distracted by you. He should’ve said something.

Maybe none of this would’ve happened then.

But he’s just a man, and man is selfish. He was glad this happened.

Without this happening, he wouldn’t have his arms wrapped around your body, his face buried into your neck breathing you in. Without this, you wouldn’t have called him darling, causing his heart to thump erratically in his chest. Without this, he wouldn’t have been able to pretend right now that you and him were more than friends, a fantasy that he had played out a million times in his dreams.

You were talking to him, but he couldn’t make the words out. A shiver wracked his body, and he burrowed deeper. God, he was so cold. And so tired.It would be so easy to just close his eyes, to let unconsciousness wash over him… 

He was jolted awake by a hearty shake of his knee, and he heard your voice break through the fog of his brain. 

You had such a lovely voice. He hated how worried it sounded, and all because of him. Or maybe he was happy you were worried about him. He couldn’t tell. Everything was unclear. The only thing he was certain about was the fuzzy feeling in his chest that grew with each glance and each soft word from you.

He was in love with you.

Stupidly in love, in fact. 

He couldn’t stop himself, the words tumbling from his lips like a freefall. But it came out as gibberish, and he felt you shake your head, unable to comprehend him.

That’s alright. He’d repeat it as many times as you needed. 

And as another shiver tore through him, he felt you rub his thigh reassuringly. Despite the thick material of your gloves, he could feel the warmth of your skin, practically burning against his frosty skin. The butterflies in his chest bubbled to life, and he couldn’t stop the small laugh he let out. 

He was infatuated.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

The short ride felt like forever, the monotonous landscape that had once been soothing now tormenting you as you searched for the cabin you saw prior. The smoke trail was impossible to spot out in the snowstorm, so you used what limited navigation skills you had to get you there. 

Eventually, the frame of the cabin broke through the sheet of snow, and you nearly cried in relief. You were starting to freeze, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how Charles was feeling. Taima huffed as you brought her alongside the entrance, the steam from her snout dissipating instantly. Quickly dismounting, Charles nearly fell off when you moved, slowly slipping into unconsciousness. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” you snarled, roughly shaking him awake. Yes, you were threatening the hypothermic man. No, you did not care. You were almost inside, and you were not going to lose him. “Do not pass out on me, Charles Smith. Now, let’s get you off Taima.”

Charles muttered out an apology, his eyes reopening as he struggled to get off. His clothes were starting to solidify, clumps of ice forming across his jacket. You helped as best you could, catching him when his feet made contact with the ground, nearly sending you both to the snow. Again, you slung his arm over your shoulder, your other arm holding your gun as you entered the cabin, ready to clear out any homeowners. 

A blast of heat hit both of you as you creaked the door open slowly, and you heard Charles sigh with relief. A quick scan around proved that it was empty, and you gently set Chalres in front of the still burning fire. You realized now that the occupants were probably some of the O’Driscolls that just jumped you, and the cabin now stood empty for you and Charles. Relaxing slightly, you put away your gun, then added a few more logs to the fire pit, the flames lapping at the wood eagerly. 

To call the cabin small would be an understatement. It was large enough to fit both you and Charles comfortably, but you can’t imagine that the few O’Driscolls camping here temporarily had a lot of legroom . A single twin sized bed was lined up against the wall, cloth and other materials covering the windows beside it. There was a fireplace, a small stewpot, a nightstand, and a chair. Extra sleeping bags and rugs adorned the floor, a few cans of fruits and vegetables scattered across the floor. You saw the occasional empty bottle of alcohol, and you even found a pack of cigarettes. 

Charles seemed to wake some, the warmth of the fire breathing some life back into him. You saw him look around, body still shaking. He looked even worse than you thought, his normally warm-toned skin devoid of any color, and his hair was plastered to his face. As you crouched down in front of him, you went to push back a few strands, your gloves long since discarded, but you refrained. 

“A-Are you alright?” You heard him ask again through chattering teeth, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Even though he saw freezing, likely suffering from hypothermia, he was more worried about your well being.

“I’m not the one who fell into the freezing lake. What were you thinking?” You weren’t angry, your words surprisingly gentle despite the fear in your heart. 

“I-I wasn’t… I-” his body cut him off, shivers wracking his body. 

“We gotta get these clothes off of you,” you picked at the offending garment, the material barely budging. You started to work the heavy coat off his shoulders, the roaring wind outside the only noise.

Suddenly, Charles was grabbing at your wrist, stalling your movement. You were halfway done with taking it off, the water melting off of it coating your hands. “Taima…” you heard him say.

“I’ll go make sure she’s secure,” you quickly rose to your feet. “Just get undressed. We need to get you warmed up.”

Stepping outside, the gusts hitting your body caused you to let out a curse. Taima was  still where you left her, stomping impatiently in the ground, shaking out her coat as she tried to keep warm. When you clicked your tongue, she came prancing over, ready to get out of the wind. 

You led her to the attached stall, which was in pretty decent condition. It blocked out a lot of the wind, and it shared a wall with the fireplace, letting some of the warmth to the horses as well. There was some hay left scattered on the ground, and you took off her saddle, setting it on the stand. You left the horse blanket on, giving her some extra protection. 

When you were done, you moved to leave, and you felt Taima brush affectionately against your head, nuzzling her snout into your shoulder. Laughing, you pet her neck affectionately before she removed herself to continue eating at the hay. Making sure the gate was secure, you headed back into the cabin. 

Charles was still undressing when you entered, his back to you. Even his undershirt was soaked through, the material clinging to his body like a second skin. It was at that point it clicked that the man you were infatuated with was going to be bare before you soon. You found yourself turning away, uncharacteristically embarrassed, shrugging off your own jacket and laying across the back of the chair. If it was any other person, you’d’ve not reacted this way, your lifestyle not allowing for much privacy. But of course it had to be Charles getting undressed in front of you, and you found yourself growing quite warm. 

Taking the lasso from your belt, you strung it across the room, making a makeshift clothesline to hopefully dry his clothes faster. His jacket, which was a wet pile of fur, was the first to be hung up, the rope creaking precariously under the weight. Luckily, it held, and you added each new item as he took it off. 

You made sure not to look directly at Charles, and you saw in your peripheral vision as he worked off his shirt. Your throat was suddenly dry, hands shaky as you continued to hang items up. Why, out of all people, did it have to be Charles? It was like God was tormenting you, giving you what, but keeping it just out of reach. 

You must’ve made a noise, because Charles was turning toward you, concerned. You finally let yourself look at him. He was partially done unbuttoning his shirt, the collar open, but you saw that he was struggling with the small buttons, his fingers barely working. “May I?” you asked, gesturing toward his shirt. The sooner he was out of the wet garment, the better.

He paused for a second, contemplating. “Yes,” he consented, lowering his hand at his side. Stepping forward, your hands resumed his work, quickly undoing the rest of it. Do not make a big deal of this, you repeated in your mind. You were simply helping a friend not die from hypothermia, not unbuttoning the shirt of the person you were hopelessly in love with. He shrugged it off, practically peeling it from his body. You were especially careful to only look him in the eye now, not daring to look at his newly exposed chest. 

Turning your back to him to hang up the shirt, the unmistakable clang of his belt hitting the floor had you stilling. Exhaling shakily, you heard him take off the remainder of his clothes, all making themselves comfortable on the floor. You didn’t dare turn around to grab them. Instead, you headed towards the bed, pulling off the heavy duvet. Walking backwards, you held it out to him behind you. You heard him murmur out a small thanks, taking the blanket from your outstretched arms. 

You gave him a few moments. “Are you… decent?” you asked, keeping your gaze up even with your back turned. When he gave a noise of confirmation, you finally turned back around. After situating his discarded clothing, you gathered some of the canned goods strewn about before setting your boots next to Charles’ beside the fire. You sat down next to him on the various furs and bedrolls. Charles had the blanket wrapped around his body, and you tried really hard to not concentrate on the fact that he was completely bare under the duvet. 

You opened one of the cans with your knife, tossing the lid of it behind you and handing it to the man beside you. “Eat. You need to get your strength up.” You saw him open his mouth to protest, but you cut him off before he could. “There’s plenty of food for the both of us. Now, eat.” You pushed the can of what looked to be sweetcorn in his hand, and he finally took it, tipping it back into his mouth and eating slowly. 

He was still shivering, but he was slowly becoming more and more alert, and his teeth had ceased their chattering. Quickly finishing the can of food, he placed the empty can beside him, rubbing his hands together beneath the blanket. You were looking into the fire, and you could feel his eyes on you. He didn’t say anything, just observing you like he normally did. 

This time, however, it felt like his eyes were picking you apart, like he could see every secret beneath your skin. Clearing your throat, you stood up, gathering up the remainder of his clothing and hanging them up. You were scared that the longer you sat by him, the likelihood of you having to confront your secrets would increase tenfold. “You need anythin’? More food? Water? Coffee?” You asked, drying your hands on your pants. 

“I’m g-good,” he responded. 

“Have you warmed up at all?” He shrugged in response, the action barely noticeable with the heavy blanket around his shoulders. You didn’t bother to hide the concerned frown on your lips as you crouched beside him. Running the back of your hand, you winced when you were met with deathly cold skin. “Shit…” you cursed, pulling your hand away, and you failed to notice Charles chasing after your warmth.

Standing up, you began to pace the room, trying to keep the dread you felt at bay. Your mind was running wild with thoughts, all ending in worse case scenarios. Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to keep calm, just for Charles’ sake. You wouldn’t do him any good if you were freaking out. You tried to think back on the basic first aid you’d learned through the years. Most of the things you’d already done, like getting him out of wet clothing, getting him food, getting him in front of a fire. Was there anything else you could do? Or did you just have to sit and wait and pray that what you did was enough.

You knew Charles was watching you pace, doing nothing to calm your racing heart. You ran your fingers through your hair, a gasp leaving your lips when you finally remembered. Body heat, which means… oh. 

Goddamn it all. 

You hoped you didn’t look too alarmed. It’s not that you were opposed to the idea, but it would make it significantly harder to bottle up your feelings. In fact, doing this might just smash the bottle all together, causing you to spill your heart to him. “So…” you began nervously. How the hell were you supposed to ask this?

“So…?” Charles repeated, raising a brow. 

“I-I… well…” you ran your hand over your face. The wall was looking quite interesting right now. “I was wondering if you’d like… I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anythin’... if you’d like for me to share my warmth?” That sounds so weird. “It’s just, you’re not gettin’ any better… and I don’t want anythin’ to happen to you. I couldn’t bear it.” The last part you whispered, and you doubted he even heard it. 

Something flickered across Charles’ face, too quick for you to recognize. He looked conflicted, and you chewed nervously on your lips. Did I cross a line? Oh God, did I make this weird? He’s gonna hate me-

“I’d like that,” his voice cut off your minds’ rambling. 

Letting out a breath of relief, you gave him a small smile, which he returned. Okay, this is happening. Again, do not make a big deal of this. This means nothing. Your hands, which weren’t steady, began to work at your button up. Charles slowly looked away, his eyes darkening slightly. “I’m not gonna take everythin’ off,” you reassured, taking the look in his eye as concern. Taking your gun belt off and setting it on the bed, your pants and socks were off next, joining the belt, leaving you in only your undergarments. 

Slowly, you approached him, your steps uncertain across the bedrolls and furs. You tried to keep calm, but the reality of what was going to happen quite soon was causing your heart to pound against your ribs. He watched you approach, head turned back around. You couldn't imagine it was comfortable for his neck, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

Finally, you stood in front of him, partially blocking the fire, which caused your shadow to cast over Charles. Without breaking eye contact with you, he pulled the blanket back, inviting you in. Your shadow, thankfully, blocked out any newly revealed skin, but you still found a blush creeping up your neck. 

Without giving yourself a chance to back out, you sat yourself on his lap. With your legs wrapping around his hips, your ankles were barely able to interlock. His following sigh sounded pleased, and you found yourself smiling as he wrapped the blanket around the two of you, creating something akin to a cocoon. He kept his hands braced on the ground beside him, refraining from touching you.

Charles was indeed freezing, and you let out a discontent noise at the contact. “Sorry,” you more felt than heard him say, your faces mere inches apart. 

“I should be the one who’s sayin’ that…” you sighed, and you rested your hands on his shoulders, beginning the process of warming his body back to a normal temperature. “I should’ve been payin’ better attention, then we would’ve never ended up in this mess.” Not that I’m complaining too much. 

The two of you sat together for a few minutes, letting Charles simply enjoy your body heat. “I don’t think either of us were expecting an O’Driscoll to come falling out of a tree.” You heard him say.

“It certainly wasn’t on my list of things to happen today,” you laughed, your hands moving down his shoulders to his biceps. Having him under your touch like this really put into perspective his sheer size. “And neither is this. Any of this. I’m sure you weren’t plannin’ on takin’ a bath in Lake Isabella today.”

“Can’t say I was. But, you-” Charles cut himself off, his eyes widening the tiniest bit. If you weren’t so close, you probably wouldn’t have noticed. You gave him a confused look, and he just shook his head. “It’s nothing. I almost said something foolish,” he tried to dismiss, embarrassment evident on his face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say somethin’ foolish the entire time I’ve known you.” You tugged at one of his arms, bringing it between your bodies after he shifted his weight on to the other arm. You clasp his uninjured hand between yours, blowing hot air and trying your best to return some life back to the ice cubes that were his fingers. “You know I ain’t gonna tease you for what you say, right?”

“I know,” Charles sighed, but he didn’t elaborate further. You didn’t push, not wanting to wreck this moment between the two of you. You felt him flex his fingers between yours, a relieved noise leaving him as more feeling returned to them. Eventually, you let go of his hand, but it seemed like he didn’t quite know where to put it, hovering a few inches above your waist before returning back to the ground. “You can touch me, Charles.”

You held back a content noise when you finally felt him grasp your waist, his fingers resting on the waistband of your undergarments. Occasionally, his fingers would brush your bare skin, your undershirt having rid up when you had sat down, and you felt goosebumps erupt across your skin. 

Moving to his injured hand, you eyed the now wrecked bandage, blood and water causing the material to practically dissolve. You tsked disapprovingly, and began to peel off the old wrapping, discarding them across the cabin. You were expecting to see the wound completely reopened, especially because of the punches he threw at the O’Driscoll, but were pleasantly surprised to find a pretty much healed injury. It was slightly irritated, sure, but it must’ve been healed for at least a day or two.

“And here I was scared that we’d have to chop off your hand,” you joked, flipping his arm over as you examined the now scar. “This has been healed for a day or two now. You’re probably only gonna have a light scar from this.” Realization dawned on you, and you chuckled. “Charles, you could’ve gone huntin’ on your own today.”

“I could’ve.” He didn’t even bother trying to deny it. “Still, I did want to do it with you, but I could’t just ask. I needed an excuse.”

“You never need an excuse, Charles. I’ll gladly go huntin’ with you, injured hand or not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You felt him squeeze your hip gently, a playful grin on his face. It had your stomach doing somersaults, and you tore your eyes away to begin warming up his other hand. It was strange, seeing him so carefree like this. It was a look you’d never really seen on him, but you rather enjoyed it. “Only hunting?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you teased, drawing out the syllables. “Whatcha have in mind?”

“Not quite sure yet. But it’ll just be us.”

“Like a date?” You joked, trying not to sound too hopeful. 

“Sure. Like a date.”

A giddy smile cracked across your lips, and you gingerly kissed the back of Charles’ hand before letting it go, where it immediately joined his other by settling on your waist. Your ears were burning, a flustered blush growing across your body. Here you were, sitting on a naked Charles’ lap, only the thin material of your undergarments separating the two of you, but the thing that made you bashful was him asking you on a date. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you rested your head on his shoulder. You felt him chuckle, the hands on your waist moving up your back, keeping your body pressed close to him. The digits were still a bit chilled, but you didn’t mind. The blanket around the two of you was barely hanging on at this point, and you tried your best to keep it around him. Like he did on the horse, you felt him bury his face in the crook where your neck and shoulders connected. 

Although it was significantly less cold than the last time, you still shivered at the contact. You felt his lips brush against the skin, and you could barely feel the light kiss he pressed there, gone in an instant. So many thoughts and emotions were running through your mind at that moment. You mostly felt relieved, your feelings for the man no longer feeling so one-sided. Your mind was so loud, in fact, that you barely heard him mumble something against your skin. You realized that he was thanking you, and you responded with a confused noise.

“You saved my life today. Twice. I haven’t thanked you yet.”

“I wouldn’t’ve just left you, Charles. I couldn’t. I…” you trailed off, a confession ready to leave your lips. The bottle had cracked, its contents spilling out as you tried to damndest to keep it all contained. “If I remember correctly, you also saved me today. Nothin’ good would’ve happened if you weren’t there today.”

You felt him tense, an almost pained sound leaving him. “When I saw you like that… I don’t ever want to see that again.”

You moved back so that you could see him again, and you cupped the side of his face with your hand, relieved to find the skin significantly warmer than it was moments ago. “I’m alright. Thanks to you, I’m safe.” 

He relaxed slightly, but his eyes were filled with so much sadness that it had you frowning. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared before,” he whispered, resting his own hand atop yours. “The best thing in my life, and I almost lost it today.” Both of you seemed surprised by his words, but you didn’t let him backtrack.

“But you didn’t. You are the one who got that man off me, and showed him the error of his ways.”

He chuckled at that, but then another frown adorned his lips. “I didn’t… unsettle you, right? I… I saw your eyes widen after you called me off him. You’re not-”

“Never. I know you’d never hurt me.”

Relieved, you felt him go fully lax under your touch. His whole body had returned to a normal temperature, you noted, the heat under the blanket beginning to become sweltering. With your thumb, you stroked his cheek, feeling the raised skin of the scar across his cheek. He let go of your hand, moving it back to the ground to keep the two of you propped up as you leaned forward. The duvet fell slightly, exposing his shoulder to the air, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Keeping your hand on his cheek, your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Although, I do think you looked rather beautiful.”

He practically shuddered, a pleased smile on your mouth as you leaned back again. Keeping only a few inches between your faces, you watched as his eyes flicked down to your lips before returning up. “Yeah?” You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low.

You nodded, the fingers on his cheek moving to brush a few strands away from his face. His eyes were dark, pupils blown out but not because of the low light. “I always think you look beautiful,” you murmured. 

He hummed in response, and you felt the hand on your back creek up, resting at the nape of your neck. He didn’t pull you forward, he just held you. “Next to you, however, I imagine I look quite plain.”

“Oh, hush,” you chided while smiling. 

“I’m serious.” You felt him play with the hair at your neck, fingers running lightly through the strands. “It’s distracting, how beautiful you are. Whenever I walk into a room and you’re in there, you’re the first thing I look at, and I can never bring myself to look away. At night at camp, you look so at ease, the fire illuminates your face in a way that makes you look ethereal. I can do nothing but watch you, too stunned to speak. You plague every waking thought, and you haunt my dreams. You’ve unknowingly burrowed yourself into my heart, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You were at a loss for words, your mouth moving but no words actually came out. Choosing to ignore the way your heart celebrated, you let out an airy chuckle. “I think that’s the longest I’ve ever heard you talk.” 

He laughed. “I can keep it short, if you’d like?”

“I didn’t mean that,” you scoffed. “What could possibly condense all that?”

Charles gave you a look, like he couldn’t believe you hadn’t caught on by now. A part of you knew what he was going to say, but you wouldn't believe it. You needed to hear it from his lips. The hand playing with your hair stilled, the only sound being the crackling fire behind you. 

“I’m in love with you.” 

He said it like it was the simplest thing ever, like it hadn’t just completely flipped your world upside down. He had taken your bottled up feelings and opened it himself. Taking your responding silence as a negative thing, you felt his hand fall slightly, a worried look crossing his face. You didn’t give him much time to worry, pulling him closer with the hand still cupping his face. Your foreheads connected, and your lips were almost brushing. “You mean it?” 

“Of course.”

“Well… for how long?”

“How long have I been with the gang?”

Surprised, you laughed lightly, and he visibly looked confused. “So this entire time, you felt the same way?”

It took a second for him to process your words, a wide grin appearing when he did. “I guess so.” He paused for a moment, and you felt him take a deep breath. “You love me?” He asked, his voice small and uncertain. 

You moved your face back an inch, giving you room to nod. “I do. For the same amount of time, too. I was too scared to say anythin’, I didn’t wanna ruin what we had. And I kinda thought I annoyed you to death,” you chuckled. “But if today reminded me of anythin’, it’s that this life is too unpredictable to have regrets.”

“Arthur gave you that lecture too?”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he didn't heed your warning about not playing matchmaker with you and Charles. But still, you might have to thank him later. “Despite what he claims, he’s a nosy bastard.”

He hummed in agreement, and a silence hung over the room, anticipation heavy in the air. With the lightest touch, you felt him bring you forward with the hand on the back of your head. “I wanna hear you say it,” you heard him ask. 

“I love you, darlin’.” Both hands now cupped his cheeks, and you hovered your lips above his. “Kiss me?”

“Gladly.” You felt his hand move to cradle your head, pulling you in the final distance until your lips were colliding. There was only a hint of chill left on his skin, easily melting away against your warm mouth.  His lips were soft, softer than you imagined, and you let out a pleased sigh. It was a surprisingly quick kiss, and you sucked in a breath when you felt him pull away, his eyes blown out. 

He was also panting, and his fingers wove into your hair, like he was grounding himself. Moving forward, you tried to reconnect your lips, but he moved his head so that your lips collided with his cheek instead. A jolt of panic shot through your body, thinking you horribly misread the situation. “I want… I want this,” he reassured. “But I want to make sure you want this. That you want… me.”

You’d never met a man like Charles Smith, and you’re sure you’d never meet another like him. Never, ever had you heard of or met a man explicitly asking for consent like this, and it got you more excited than you thought it would. “I’ve wanted this for a while now,” you admitted, resting your touch on the junction where his shoulders and neck met. “I’ve dreamed of a moment like this more times than I can count. I want you, Charles. I need-”

In a complete switch up, he crashed his lips against yours, muffling your words. If the first kiss had been gentle and hesitant, this one was hungry and confident, lips eagerly moving against yours. He was practically devouring you, like he couldn’t get enough of you. With every small noise that left you, he seemed to grow more bold, and you felt the fingers in your hair tug slightly. It didn’t hurt, but it caused your lips to part. Within seconds his tongue swept into your mouth, eager to explore you. 

The blanket had long since fallen off, bunched up on the ground surrounding the two of you. Pushing him lightly on his shoulders, you eased him on his back. Your hands planted on his chest when he made contact with the furs, your lips not separating for a moment. He was a pleasant temperature under your fingers, his skin surprisingly soft, just like his lips. You were straddling his waist now, your hands barely keeping you from laying your entire weight on the man. 

He had let go of your head, his hands moving to your waist to keep you secure. His grip was strong, but not enough to leave a mark. A part of you wanted him to, but you didn’t say anything. If he wanted you like you wanted him, then there would be a next time.

Rocking your hips, you felt a growing hardness barely separated by your thin undergarments. You felt him groan when you did so, and he tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth. When he moved his head away to suck in some air, your hands snaked back up his neck, nearly covering his ears. You’d thought your attempts at warming him up were fruitful, but when you felt how cold his ears were, you made a concerned noise, your lust temporarily forgotten. “Your ears are freezing…”

He looked like he couldn’t care less, but then a mischievous smile crossed his face. “You gonna warm them up, then?”

“What do you think I’m tryin’ to do?” You giggled, and you made sure that your hands fully covered them. You had easy access to his lips, and you gave him a quick kiss. 

“Not with your hands, my love.”

You smiled at the endearment, but his statement confused you. Cocking your head to the side, you moved your hands off his face, settling them back on his chest. “What-?”

You didn’t get to finish your question, the hands on your hips effortlessly pulling your up toward his face. Your knees now straddled the sides of his head, your thighs practically where your hands were, covering his ears. You looked down at him with wide eyes, a flush creeping up your neck at the implications. Surely he doesn't want that, right?

Charles let out a satisfied noise, and with his hands now on your thighs he eased you on to him. You let him, but you kept a few inches between his mouth and your body. He genuinely seemed upset by that, and you felt him press a quick kiss to the inside of your thigh, causing a shiver to run through your body.

“Please, let me taste you,” he pressed another kiss to the inside of your legs, this one closer to your aching center. If he moved any closer, he was bound to feel your wetness through the fabric. “I want you to fall apart on my face.”

You exhaled shakily. “You want to?” You asked, almost in disbelief. This man was unreal.

He nodded, the action causing his chin to brush against your center. “Let me make you feel good, my love.” When he pulled you down again, you didn’t keep any distance between the two of you. You felt him press a kiss to your clothed center, a smug grin on his face when he felt your arousal. He didn’t say anything, just pulling you down closer to his face until your legs were fully wrapped around his head, no space between the two of you. 

You felt his tongue flick out, simply tasting you through the damp fabric. He did it again, and again, and his hands tightened on your thighs. He was indirect with his tongue, but each swipe had you letting out small moans. A mix of his saliva and your arousal was causing the fabric to become even more wet; they were most certainly going to be wrecked. 

The small kitten-licks were nice, but you needed more. Charles knew this too, and you felt him work his fingers under the material of your undergarments, pulling them down your ass and thighs. It took some awkward maneuvering, but eventually the garment was off, being tossed somewhere to the side by you, leaving you in only your undershirt.

He wasted no time, pulling you back down onto his face with a growl. Parting you with a pass of his tongue, he let out a pleased noise, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. Charles was insatiable now, lapping and drinking you like you were the best goddamn meal he’s ever had. His eyes were hooded, drunk on you. When his broad strokes turned into concentrated flicks on your clit, you moaned loudly, your thighs turning vice-like around his head. 

It spurred him on, working your clit with markman’s accuracy, bringing you closer and closer to your climax in record time. You heard him groan something under you, and you let out a breathy sigh when you realized he was groaning your name over and over again.  

This entire time, you had kept your hands to yourself, but you were growing more and more desperate to touch him. Reaching down, your hands tangled in his hair, and then almost immediately releasing it like it burned you. For a second, you panicked, thinking yet again you crossed a line, which seemed to be a repeating event this evening. You knew his hair was an important part of his culture, and you would never forgive yourself if you did something to upset him.

Without even slowing down a beat, you felt him grab your hand, leading your back towards his head. He closed his eyes when he felt you weave your fingers through the locks, his hips bucking when you tugged slightly. 

You were getting close now, and you felt yourself moving against his face in time with his tongue. “Charles,” you whined, and he hummed in response. “I’m- I’m gettin’ close, darlin’,”

As you neared your release, you heard the sound of skin-on-skin from behind you. Turning around, you saw Charles stroking himself, getting off to eating you out. “Oh my God… Charles…” you breathed out, barely able to tear your eyes away from the beautiful sight behind you.

His eyes were hazy with lust as he peered up at you from between your legs, and you could feel yourself begin to tip over the edge. Sighing out his name, you felt him grin. Before you could even process it, he sucked on your clit, pushing you over that edge as you came hard on his face. You were crying out his name, but your voice sounded distant to your ears, temporarily out of your body as you orgasmed. Charles kept his tongue moving as you came, drawing out every bit of pleasure from your body.

It took you a few moments to recover, and the first thing you were able to hear was the obscene noise leaving Charles’ mouth as he drank in your release. Secondly, you realized you had a death-grip on Charles’ hair, and you quickly let go, and you tried to apologize, but your words were jumbled. He continued to lap at you, but it quickly became too much, your body beginning to feel overstimulated. You rolled off of him, being mindful of the fireplace even in your post-orgasmic haze.

Glancing over at Charles, you found him already watching you, just like he would do in camp. With a soft smile, you scooted closer until you were pressed into his side. He gave you his arm to la on, and you felt him kiss the top of your head. It was silent between the two of you, simply taking the moment to catch your breaths and recover. 

You couldn’t help looking down, though, having to stifle a gasp when you saw how big he actually was, having only gotten a glimpse of him early. He was going to feel good, but you knew you would be sore for a few days after. Not that you cared. 

Looking back up at him, you let your fingers trail up his chest, resting right above his heart. It was beating erratically, just like yours, and you heard him let out a noise when your fingers “accidently” brushed over his nipple. You heard him whine out your name, and you slowly sat up. You were able to see him clearer now, and he looked like a mess. His face was covered in your slick, glistening in the firelight, and his hair was all tousled from your fingers. But the best part was the pure bliss on his features.

It was almost comical, the way his eyes snapped open when you pulled off your shirt, exposing your chest to him. “You’ve got somethin’ on your face,” you tried to joke, but your voice was quite hoarse. You tossed your shirt at him, giving him something to wipe his mouth with. He merely set it to the side, unbothered with the mess. Propping himself up with an arm, he offered you his free hand, pulling you forward when you took it in yours.

You nearly fell right on top of him, your muscles pure jelly. Laughing, you were just able to get upright before he was kissing you. It was weird, tasting yourself on him, but you found you didn’t mind. You didn’t keep your lips on his for too long, moving down his jaw, then down his neck. You weren’t straddling his hips, so the positioning was a tad bit uncomfortable, but you didn’t care. 

Moving down further, you trailed kissed across his collarbones, then down his sternum, his breathing growing uneven as you went lower and lower. A hand now rested on the back of your head as you continued downward, reaching a patch of hair that started at his belly button. It surprised you, the rest of his body being relatively hairless, but you weren't complaining. In fact, you were imagining seeing it peek out from under his shirt as he stretched, his clothing riding up with his arms. Even though it was relatively innocent in the light of everything else the two of you were doing, it had you pressing your thighs together, trying to relieve the returning ache between them.

Following the happy trail, you ran your fingers through the hair as you adjusted closer to his member. His was achingly hard at this point, and his breathing stilled when you ghost your lips over the tip. Leaning over him, you flicked your tongue out, licking up the bead of precum. The hand and your head tightened into a ball, and you could tell he was fighting every urge to buck himself down your throat. Next time, you thought. 

Moving down further so that you sat between his legs, you spit into your hand before you grasped him. He was velvety soft as you slowly began to stroke him, a mix of your name and a moan leaving his lips as you did so. With heavy eyes and part lips, he watched you pleasure him. “You feel so good in my hand,” you murmured, “butI think you’ll feel even better in me, no?”

His response was slightly incoherent, but you could tell he was agreeing with you. “In a second, darlin’. I wanna taste you, too.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Charles found his voice again, although it sounded very strained.

“But I want to. Don’t make me beg for it.” You weren’t really intended to suggest anything, but the look on Charles’ face at your comment had you grinning. “Unless you want me to?”

“I-” he was stunned, but you could tell he was imagining it, and liking it. 

“Please, darlin’, let me suck your cock,” you fluttered your lashes at him. “I bet you taste so good… just let me taste you, please. I need it so bad, darlin’. I need your cock-”

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” Charles cursed, which was more arousing than you thought it would be. “Yeah, go ahead, my love.”

Pressing one last kiss to the tip, you flattened your tongue and ran it up his length, and you heard him moan. You did it a few times, receiving a similar reaction each time. Eventually, you slowly took the tip of him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around while doing so. Taking more and more of him into your mouth, you were only able to take him halfway before he was pressing against the back of your throat, and you relaxed as best you could, not wanting to trigger your gag reflex.

Taking the rest of him in your hand, you began to bob your head up and down. Hollowing your cheeks until you reached the tip of him, you then ran your tongue across the slit, before moving back down his length, keeping your tongue flat. You repeated this action for a while, falling into an easy rhythm. You felt him buck up a few times, but other than that he kept his hips relatively still, letting you have your way with him. His hand didn’t push you further down him, he just simply held you, moving back the hairs that tried to fall in your face. 

You heard him moan out your name, and you groaned. “You feel so good, my love,” he praised. His words turned into a surprised moan, whe, with your free hand, started moving slowly up his thigh, moving inward until you brushed against his balls. He nearly jumped with the contact, causing his cock to go further down your throat than you'd like, causing you to rear back coughing. 

Immediately, he was apologizing. His hand was now on your cheek, wiping away the spit around your mouth as you recovered. “Are you alright?” He asked, and you nodded, not trusting your voice at that second. You could tell that he still felt bad, and you pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. 

“I’m alright,” you managed to get out, and you cleared your throat some more. “Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“So did you, touching me like that” he teased, his earlier concerns dissipating when he saw that you truly were okay. “I wasn’t gonna last long even before you did that.” Pulling you up to him, he kissed you, and you finally straddled his waist, his cock resting between your bodies. 

You weren’t given much time to savor his lips before your world was quite literally turning as he flipped you on to your back. The furs nestled nicely against your skin, and you locked your legs around Charles’ waist, grinding yourself against his member. His head fell against your chest, and you felt him brush feather-light kisses across your skin, much like you did. But a new eagerness had overtaken you, and you grinded again against him, and you felt him chuckle. “Patience, my love.”

“I’ve waited long enough, Charles. I need you in me.”

“You think you’re ready for me?” If those words came out of any other man, you would’ve laughed at the arrogance those words held. But you knew it came out of a place of genuine concern for your wellbeing, scared of hurting you. He was large, and you knew that it was probably going to hurt when he entered you, but your lust fueled brain did not care. You need him in you now, consequences be damned.

“Please,” you whispered, and he adjusted so that his face was level with yours. 

“Alright, but if at any point-”

Kissing him quickly, you smiled at him, brushing back a long strand of hair that fell in his face. “I will. I trust you. Now,” you kissed him again, “fuck me.”

He didn’t respond, pressing a kiss against the tip of your nose before you felt him press into you. He kept his eyes on your face, gauging your reaction as he slowly entered you. The initial breach was always the worst part, and you couldn’t help the slight grimace that crossed your features as he breached your entrance. He halted, but you urged him further by pressing your heels into his back. 

The stretch was unlike anything else you’d ever felt, satiating a need you didn’t know you had. Tangling your hands in his hair, you pulled your face against yours, resting your foreheads together. “God, you feel so good,” you panted as he pressed himself deeper into you. You were certain that he was going to ruin you for any other man. 

Hearing him chuckle made you realize you said that last part aloud. “After this, you’re stuck with me, my love.”

Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, and you were curious to see how deep his possessive side went, you pushed further. “Am I now?” Yes. 

For a second, it seemed like Charles couldn’t tell that you were teasing, but when he saw the playful glint in your eye he played along. “Do you think anyone else could make you feel like this?”

He was nearly fully sheathed in you, and you fought the urge to just pull him the rest of the way into you “I dunno. If I remember right, I asked you to fuck me. It sure don’t feel like you’re doin’ that.”

Finally, he was fully in you, your hips flushed together. You both let out content moans, and Charles gave you a moment to adjust. “You want me to fuck you?” He confirmed, and the words sounded even filthier coming from his mouth. 

“If you don’t, I’ll find someone who will.” 

Letting out something akin to a growl, he pulled out of you quickly, leaving only the tip in before he was slamming back into you, hands gripping your hips tightly. He set a brutal pace, and your head rolled back, your moans and cries filling the air. With the way your head was, it caused your back to arch, meaning your breasts were right in his face. With zero hesitation, he took one into his mouth, sucking and toying with the nipple in his mouth. Releasing it, he switched to the other one, making sure to give both apt attention. 

Tugging at his hair, you brought his attention upwards. Smashing your lips against his, your kiss was open-mouth and messy, more tongue and teeth than anything. His hips were snapping against yours, incessant as he pounded into you. 

“Yes! Charles,” you wailed, tearing your lips away from his to do so. He kept his lips busy, nipping and kissing the skin at your jaw and neck. A particularly hard bite had you gasping, and you felt him smirk against your skin. Your senses were completely overwhelmed in the best way; all that you could register was him, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he looked. 

He leaned over you now, broad arms caging your head in. His dark hair fell in waves around him, blocking out any other visual in the room. All you could do was look at him, and he was a sight for sore eyes. Color had long since returned to his cheeks, the skin there darkening with exertion. His eyes were locked on to you, dancing around your face and chest like he couldn’t quite figure out what he wanted to look at. His plush lips were parted, soft gasps of air leaving him with each thrust.

Another snap of his hips had you grasping at his back and shoulders, pleasuring washing over you as another orgasm began to build up. Your nails dug into his skin, no doubt leaving marks, but it didn’t seem to deter him. In fact, he let out a low moan, and it had your cunt clenching around his cock. 

Babbling his name, your nails ran down his back, leaving in its wake angry red lines. “You feel so good… like you were made for me.”

“My love…” he sighed, and one of the hands at the side of your head cupped your face,  bringing you right to his lips. His length was reaching places in you that you didn’t know existed, filling you deep and hard, just like you wanted. You were going to become addicted to him. 

“I’m so close, Charles…” Releasing one of his shoulders, you snaked your hand between your bodies, moving to start touching yourself. You weren’t expecting him to quickly grasp your wrist, bringing it out of the way and replacing your hand with his much larger one. He began to rub at your clit, slow circular movements that juxtaposed the fast in-and-out of his cock. His ministrations had you seeing stars, and you felt yourself reaching completion again that night. 

“Charles, I-”

“I know. Let me feel you fall apart.” He pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

His slow movements turned rapid, groaning when he felt you clench around him. With a cry of his name, you came, pleasure rolling over you in waves. This one was stronger than the first, feeling like every nerve in your body had been set aflame. Your eyes rolled back, the world temporarily turning dark as your eyelids shut. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, a reverent look in his gaze. With the way your walls were fluttering around him, and the quickened pace of his hips, you knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer either.

His arms went back around your head, continuing to move as he chased his own release. You heard him gasp out, quickly pulling out of you, and you let out a discontent noise as he no longer filled you. He stroked himself a few times, hand moving fervently up and down his length. If you weren’t so fucked out of your mind, you would’ve had taken him in your hand yourself, wanting to feel him as well. Moaning your name, you watched as he came, his release spilling over your stomach. His hips canted forward a few times as he worked through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

You loosened your legs that were wrapped around his waist, and silence hung over the two of you as you both processed what just happened. A small laugh left you, breaking the trance, and you saw him smile back at you, mirroring his laughter with his own. You watched him grab the blanket that was still bundled up on the floor, and he tore off a section of it, the sound of fabric ripping startling you slightly. 

Wiping his release from your skin, he tossed the soiled cloth to some corner of the room. It’s not like this was your place, anyways. Opening your arms, you invited him to lay with you, and he gladly accepted. He was careful to keep his full weight off of you, but he still lay partially on top of you, his head resting on your chest. It was comforting, and you felt yourself begin to grow a bit sleepy. “Are you warm yet?” You teased, running your fingers soothingly through his hair, and you felt his chest rumble with laughter.

“I think so,” he responded, bringing the blanket around your bodies. The fire was starting to die down, but neither of you moved to add fuel to it. He murmured something, and you gave an inquisitive sound. “I love you,” he repeated, his brown eyes filled with emotion as he stared up at you.

“I love you, too.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but he quickly shut it. “What is it?” You asked, and he sighed, his warm breath tickling you.

“Does that mean you’ll stay?”

In all honesty, you had completely forgotten about your earlier conversation. The vulnerability in his voice had your eyes watering, and it didn’t take much thinking to reach your answer. Sure, you were scared for the future of the gang, and you were scared that with each passing day you’d find yourself closer and closer to finding your end at a rope or a barrel, but none of those fears mattered, not anymore. Not when you finally had all that you wanted in your arms. And who knows, maybe you’d end up leaving in time, but you knew you wouldn’t be leaving alone.

“Yeah, I’ll stay. Besides, you still owe me a date.”

His responding smile solidified that you had made the right decision. Whatever the future held, you knew it would be easier with Charles by your side.

[dw-tma]

Descriptions of the Fears from the Magnus Archives Wiki:

The Buried-

“The fear of small spaces, suffocating, drowning, being buried alive. Fear of everything crashing down around/on oneself. Fear of being trapped without enough space. Manifests as caves, dirt, financial issues, heavy rain, underground transport, tight spaces such as coffins.”

The Corruption-

“The fear of corruption, disease, filth. Fear of the feelings of disgust, revulsion and the things or beings that might evoke such feelings. Manifests as mould, bugs, rot, decay, infection, the feeling of one's skin crawling. Can also manifest as unhealthy love and companionship.”

The Dark-

“The primal fear of the dark, of the unseen, and the creatures hiding from our view... Manifests as creatures hidden in the dark, shadow figures and monsters, blindness, coldness, dark water.”

The Desolation-

“The fear of pain, loss, burning, and destruction, especially with a senseless cause. Followers are enriched by destroying the lives of people who had things to live for, and destroying things before their potential is realised. Manifests as fire, wax, heat, burns, destruction of potential.”

The End-

“The fear of death itself—⁠uncaring and unstoppable, the fear that everything ends eventually. Manifests as bones, various forms of the dead (skeletons, mummies, zombies, etc.). Also has close ties to dreams and can manifest through them.”

The Eye-

“The fear of being watched, exposed, followed, having secrets exposed. Can also pertain to the drive to know and understand, even if your discoveries might destroy you. Manifests as eyes, security cameras, a creature or figure that keeps constant watch. Often manifests in libraries and books.”

The Flesh-

“Born from the fear held by animals bred for meat, and in the human realisation that we are just animated meat and bones. Manifests as meat, corpses, blood, bones, butchers, meat-related industry. Often manifests as strange bodies—bodies being unnaturally twisted, reshaped, and butchered.”

The Hunt-

“The animalistic fear of being chased or hunted; the primal fear of being prey. Manifests as predators, predatory monsters, animal instincts, animalistic traits. Takes hold of apparently "normal" people after they are exposed to the need for The Hunt. Self-proclaimed monster hunters might become 'Hunters' and proceed to develop a need to hunt and kill monsters.”

The Lonely-

“The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone or disconnected from the rest of society. Manifests as fog, large rooms, silence, suburbs, empty rooms, crowds of faceless people.”

The Slaughter-

“The fear of pure, unpredictable, unmotivated violence. The fear of pain coming at sudden, random moments. Manifests as people driven "mad with Slaughter," soldiers, music that either induces Slaughter or warns that Slaughter is coming. Often manifests in imagery of war or murder, and can appear wild like a frenzied killer or calm and regimented like soldiers firing on the battlefield.”

The Spiral-

“The fear of madness, that the world you know is wrong, that your mind is lying to you. Fear of deception, lying, deceiving of the mind and senses. The Spiral appears with imagery of spirals, patterns and fractals, and often manifests as hallucinations or illusions.”

The Stranger-

“The fear of the unknown, the uncanny, the unfamiliar. The creeping sense that something is not right. Manifests as beings and aspects of beings that provoke an "uncanny valley" response: human and other being-adjacent forms, such as mannequins, wax figures, masks, and taxidermy. Often manifests in theatres and performances.”

The Vast-

“The fear of heights, falling, and large open spaces including sky, space, and deep water. More broadly: the human fear of insignificance and meaninglessness, of losing oneself in too much space. Manifests as void, wide-open spaces, vertigo, falling, the transformation of something that should have a limit into something infinite.”

The Web-

“The fear of being controlled or trapped, especially being unaware of one's own entrapment. The fear of being forced to do things against one's own will, of being manipulated. Also the fear of spiders. Manifests as spiders, spider webs, web-like patterns, puppets.”

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Running from weather

Fandom: Vampire hunter D

Relationships: D x reader

Note: slight nudity, albeit in non-sexual way

“D-D?” He looked at your clattering teeth and saw the blue that started to tint your lips. The weather in this part of the Frontier was extremely unpredictable, it seemed that the weather-controlling turbine was damaged in some way. While D was resistant to any change in climate, he knew that you were not.

“We’re almost there.” He clasped your hand in his and noticed the violent shivers that rattled your body. Hold on, he pleaded silently.

After several hours of grueling pushing through the blizzard later, D carried you in his arms, scanning the environment for any possible dangers lurking beneath mountains of snow. Your legs gave up an hour ago and you had difficulty staying awake. If he knew the state of this region, he wouldn’t have brought you here. You’d wait for him in one of the friendlier cities, awaiting his return, but alas, it’s pointless to dwell on it now. The most important thing is to bring you to safety.

He rounded the mountain pass and through the sheets of snow saw small lights of human settlement.

“Just a bit further.” He whispered to your form huddled in his arms.

As he got closer, he noticed that the settlement was a village built into bedrock. Basalt walls of their built-in huts protected them from the cold. He didn’t have time to admire the structure. His primary focus was on getting you warm and providing shelter for you both. Hopefully, the denizens of this town won’t be so set against vampire hunters residing in one of their rock abodes.

The townspeople he came across were more shocked by the fact that somebody made it through the valley in the storm without freezing to death than they cared about D’s distinct appearance. They directed him to the only inn the town had, and once he was in there he was immediately directed to one of the vacant rooms.

He immediately got to work. First, he started the fire in the carved fireplace. Once the heat started to fill the room, he walked to the bed where he put you. Then he started undressing you from the wet, frost-tinted clothing. You were too exhausted to protest and while he knew this would make you uncomfortable were you in a more conscious state, he had to do everything to keep you safe. Once you were wrapped in one of the many blankets provided, he rummaged through your bag. He fished out a small portable kettle.

You were still shivering when he removed the tea from the fireplace. He threw a couple of extra logs close to the fire and made his way to where you were. D called your name and you looked up at him as he touched your face. You were so cold to the touch and even though you gave a small smile your body kept shaking. He studied you for a moment, then he stood up and start to remove his clothes.

“Uh..w-what are you..” you stammered in bewilderment as the dhampir pulled his shirt over his head.

“My apologies, but you need to get warm. Make some space.”

You watched as D slipped into bed beside you and wondered if you were dreaming. As he grabbed your blanket, you stammered “D…wai-hold on!” He didn’t listen to your protests. He pulled away the blanket and slipped behind you. Sneaking arms around your middle, he pushed you closer so were pressing against his back.

“It’s only to warm you up. Please bear with it.” You felt D’s breath tickle your neck and it made a shiver run down your spine. You lay there wound tight as a string. Being all too aware of D’s close proximity, you just lay there afraid to move a muscle, or else you might accidentally brush up against something. Despite your nervousness, you were exhausted by days of travel and eventually drifted off.

You didn’t know how long were you sleeping, but when you woke up again, the place D occupied was empty. You looked around the room half-asleep until you found him adding wood to the fire.

“D?” you called out to him in a voice still raspy from sleep. He turned to you and at that moment he looked more human than before. Shirtless, hair messy, and the side of his face illuminated by the fire he appeared so…raw.

“Will you…come back?” you mumbled sleepily. The look you gave him move something within him. D stood up and made his way back to bed. He slipped next to you again and this time you didn’t shy away when he wrapped his arms around you. Burying your face in the pillow, you let out a small yawn, browsing again.

D welt a wave of comfort wash over him. He shifted to make himself more comfortable and felt your hair tickling his chest.

“D,” you murmured almost asleep.

“Yes?”

“Your hair smells…kinda nice.”

He heard listened to your breathing as you fell asleep. When he was sure you are unconscious, he whispered “…Yours too.”

[youchangedmedestiel]

New Year's Eve tradition

Cas discovered a human tradition that happens at New Year's Eve he didn't know about before, because he saw it happened on the TV, multiple times now. The tradition consists of a human kissing another human on the lips at midnight.

Sam is working on another case with Eileen so he guesses he'll fulfill this tradition as he should. But what about Dean?

They are on another hunt together and there is no one else for him to kiss at midnight. Well except Cas. The angel can help if necessary because he would do anything for Dean. Plus, he is kind of curious to know what it would feel like to kiss the hunter, to feel his plumped and probably soft lips against his. He can't deny he never thought about it.

Fortunately, they wrapped their case up before midnight. It was an easy salt and burn kind of thing. As they walk away from the cemetery, Cas stops suddenly before arriving at the Impala.

"Dean, it's almost midnight." He notices, looking up to the sky. It's a clear and cold night, the moon is almost full and the stars are twinkling.

"And?" Dean asks, turning around to see the angel standing still. He glances up, trying to find out what Cas is looking at.

"We should respect the tradition." Cas explains as he walks slowly and carefully closer to the hunter who is standing near the driver's door and looking back at the angel now.

"What tradition?" Dean asks, frowning and scanning Cas up and down.

"The human tradition of New Year's Eve, as a human you're supposed to kiss another human at midnight." Cas explains and Dean only realizes now that tonight is December 31. Previous years, he picked up a chick at a random bar and kissed her. Sometimes this led to more and sometimes not, and in that case Dean just stayed at the bar drinking before going back to his motel room. Or some other times he was just on a hunt like tonight, not caring about what day it was because new year or not his life was always the same mess.

"Well there are no living humans around here." Dean observes jokingly, because he is feeling nervous by Cas's proximity. The angel is standing inches away from him, he can feel the heat of his breath against the skin of his throat and chin.

"I'm human enough if you need me to be." Cas states but doesn't move a bit, he doesn't want to force Dean to do anything if he doesn't want to. His eyes are locked to Dean's with that intensity of his, they are as twinkling as the stars. And Dean can't deny how his knees are getting weak nor how something weird is building in his stomach from that gaze only.

They hear a bell ringing, probably coming from the church nearby, and fireworks light up the sky. Cas doesn't have the time to say happy new year that Dean's lips are pressing against his, his hand curling around the angel's nape to keep him there. It's shy and hesitant at first, but when Cas starts returning the kiss, what was building in Dean's stomach explodes like the fireworks above their heads. His knees get weaker but Cas keeps him steady as he presses him between the Impala and his own body.

The kiss turns heated and passionate as Cas licks his lower lip. Dean parts them and Cas takes the opportunity to slide his tongue in, brushing Dean's slowly at first. Their tongues stroke each other hungrily, while Dean is tugging at Cas's tie and nape, seeking for more contact and Cas's arms are framing him, keeping him safe and warm there. The intensity of the kiss rises as the number of fireworks in the sky increase, loud, echoing noises in the valley and blue, yellow, red, green, all of them mixing together, lightning the area like it's the middle of the day.

Once the last noise resounds and the surroundings become dark again, they part, red and swollen lips leaving each other, hitching breaths breaking the returning silence in the cemetery.

"Happy new year, Dean." Cas is finally able to say, his hand cupping Dean's jaw with his thumb stroking his cheek tenderly. The hunter can't help but melt into the touch, still trying to catch his breath.

"Thanks, Cas. Happy new year." Dean answers, slightly smiling. He hadn't expected to begin the new year this way, but he can't deny that this is a pretty damn good start.

[drunkenlionwrites]

Eldritch horror Trigun AU. Vash x Reader

GIF by roseillith

Sending thanks to @jelly-doughnut-drabbles for the amazing idea! This is less of a Dark Fantasy AU, more like an AU set in a canon Trimax Universe.

The reader here is just a character for exposition, but if I continue it, it will definitely be reader x Vash fic.

I want it to be more on par with Lovecraft’s eldritch horror/cosmic horror.

The cold wind blew harshly - so strong, that your cloak did nothing for you, even if it was weaved with sturdy worm’s bristle. The grass caressed your bare feet, though wet with cold due, they were making you feel even more cold. The valley behind the Old City and the lake was not far ahead, so you persisted on your journey, determined to fill your jugs with as much fresh water as you can carry. Slipping among the ranks of Hunters outside was a hard task, but you just burned with desire to venture outside once again, even if the surface was swarmed with Prymaras. You’ve felt both excitement and primal fear pumping through your blood, making you feel bolder and more adventurous, as well as cautious and careful.

Once you arrived at the bank of the lake, you’ve hastily pulled the jugs out of the sack, filling them with water, both your hands submerged into the icy water. Now you just need to fill them all, cork and quickly retreat Home. When you’ve finished pulling the last one out of water, you’ve noticed a pair of piercing blue eyes watching you. Dropping it and falling painfully onto your bum, you tried to descry the creature watching you under the five Moons. It was an enormously tall man, wrapped in the red cloak. “The bringer of Ruin” you whispered to yourself in terror, your lips quivering, your limbs refusing to move. This is it. This is the end for you. You should’ve listened to didus’.

He slowly approached you, squatted down pulling the cloak from his head and held out his hand palm up, as if you were a wounded animal. He said something to you in a language you didn’t understand, his timbre gentle and coaxing. You just looked at him with wide eyes, filled with terror, at which he shook his head, sighed at started conversing in your own language. “Where did you come from, girl? It’s dangerous out here. You could’ve been captured by all kinds of creatures roaming out here. Are you one of the underground folk? Come, I’ll walk you closer to your home.” “You…you speak my tongue?” you managed to stutter out. “Are you him? The Bringer of Ruin”? He looked solemnly at you, saying “I have many names. I am not aware of that one, but I may be him, yes” he gave you a pained smile. At your terrified gasp, he looked into your eyes once again and slowly said “I have no intention of harming you, girl. Come, I’ll walk you home. Can you get up?” he asked, taking your sack with one hand and hoisting it up to the shoulder, his other hand stretching out to you...

“Didus’!! Didus’!” you screamed on the top of your lungs, descending countless stairs. You’ve gotten your fair share of scolding by the gate guards, and as soon as they let you go, you’ve made your way to your hut as soon as possible, banging on the door still in shock. “What happened to you, child? Where have you been?” an old man opened the door, catching you into his arms, when you collapsed onto your knees as soon as the door opened.

Tears began streaming down your face, your small figure shuddering as you wailed in your grandfather’s arms. Your little brothers and sisters gathering in a small room, their faces full of worry and fear, inquiring from you and grandfather about what has happened to you, the younger ones also beginning to cry, with older ones trying to console them. Once peaceful cozy household descending into chaos for half an hour.

When you came to your senses, you told the whole story to your family by the old shell rock table, sipping on the mole soup grandfather managed to cook using the fresh water you brought. “Foolish, foolish child!” didus’ scolded you. “By the way you described him, it could have been The Bringer of Ruin. The fallen god of Past…No one who saw him has lived to tell the tale on how exactly he looks. Don’t you ever do such a reckless thing again! We can use the underground water just as anyone else. “It’s too dirty. I want them to eat more healthily so they can grow up being sturdier and stronger than I am” you pointed to your siblings with a move of your head. “Sestro, we will be fine! Just don’t go out…please…” the eldest brother said.“Who’s that dyadya the sister has met? Grandpa, grandpa, tell us! Younger children pestered the old man. He grunted after taking some time thinking about it.

“All right. But I’ll tell it to you just for the reason of making sure you won’t be sneaking away like your careless sister did, okay?” You silently crossed your arms at that, but did not dare to say a word, listening to your grandpa. You knew the tale, but no one has told it to younger ones. “This story is not for children, for it is as dark and gloomy as it is truthful. This is a story about our Universe and the Creation of the Old city and the New city.” Grandfather continued.

"The ones who lived before us has written that before the Ruin our land was full of sand and was scorching hot, warmed by the two Suns. People used to live on the surface, everyone was safe, and the land was relatively prospering, before the Old God sent two of his Angels to punish our kind for cruelty and greed our ancestors possessed. The ancient ones wrote that people used to rely on other folk, called Plants, for the land in the past was not prosperous and didn’t have enough food and materials for the folk to use. Those Plants could use their powers to create all kinds of things: provisions, eternal light, eternal water, eternal flame among other things. But people were cruel and greedy, so those two Angels were sent to bring the end of the cruel age, but one of the Angels fell in love with people on this planet and tried to save us, fruitlessly, from his brother, the second Angel, which took the Plants from people and doomed us to death, destroying everyone and everything he could so that he can build a New World.

The second Angel managed to save some people, which were our ancestors, so this is how we have ended like this. This was thousands of years ago, so our land has changed a lot. Some folks think that what we call “prymaras” used to be those “plants”, but they became corrupted by our greed and the Angel’s scorn for humanity. Now we are doomed to dwell underground, relying on strong and brave people among us to bring us resources from above. At least we are relatively safe here, so long as we can stay strong and train the best Hunters and Gatherers.

The thing you should be afraid of the most though, are two Angels, who still roam above. The Bringers of Ruin: the one who wears a red cloak and The Corrupted one. Even though it’s believed that one of them loves humans and there are tales of him saving some who almost perished above, the last seeing of him was so long ago, that no one among the living remembers it. He’s also called a bad omen. So, kids, learn from your foolish sibling and be nice, eat well, train well and everything will be okay.”

He smiled while finishing his story, his eyes closed and the whole face covered in deep wrinkles. His voice and the tale calmed the siblings, their tummies full of warm food, the light in the oven warming up making the hut feel safe and cozy. The whole story resembled a grim fairytale to caution little children to not do the things the adults don’t approve of. The household peacefully went into deep slumber after thanking their grandfather, the sole caretaker. They need to awake well rested and strong tomorrow, after all.

Sorry I half-assed it a bit. It was just brewing and brewing in my head, I needed to spew out an exposition.I also used a few words from my native language, cause I have an idea that the new society kind of all came back to the native languages they used before coming to Gunsmoke. Just for fun. So the words are: Prymara - a ghost/ a nightmare Didus' - grandfather Sestro (from sestra) - sister Dyadya - an uncle

Here's some of the lore of this Universe I have in my head:

Knives achieved all his goals. The Earth fleet has been destroyed, all the Plants taken from humans, with humans slowly dying out, only smaller portion staying alive with Vash’s help.

Knives beginning building his “Paradise” slowly terraforming Gunsmoke, first making it into a decent prosperous planet, but slowly going insane, still being fused with a big portion of his “sisters” and having nothing to live for anymore, no one to talk to.

Vash is hiding from his brother, helping the few colonies of people to settle underground, helping them to live their lives.

Knives finally has a psychotic breakdown and does something to the Suns, probably eliminating them (maybe closing them in a different dimension/destroying/whatever, which corrupts Plants and makes them into mindless constantly hungry creatures, needing life energy to continue existing (ironically), so they capture any living being that they can on the surface. The settling of the reader calls them Prymaras.

The society we have now is more of a family tribe style now, completely depleted of any kind of technology, relying on gathering, hunting outside, which requires the strongest specimen, with weaker ones weaving clothes, making simple furniture, tools and utensils.

They have limited knowledge on what has happened in the past, relying only on the notes of the ancestors.

They have health problems because of leaving underground and by not having a light source even if ascending on the surface ( I don’t care about the fact that the surface would be a striking cold temperature in reality not suitable for any form of life, it’s still a fantasy/horror, so it’s just like a Never-ending Night or something like this), that’s why they most value the physically healthy and strong individuals.

Humanity is no longer having contact with Vash, considering him a Bad Omen, guilty in the Ruin, terrified of him just as much as of Knives.

Vash wanders the planet all alone for thousands and thousands of years, seeking a way to restore the Suns and heal the Plants somehow, still refusing to kill. Still searching for penance.

Song used while writing "Toumei" by Alber Karch, Ichiko Aoba

[lakesbian]

When mom and dad come home, they’re going to be soooo mad. Flooding house, oil and broken glass at the base of the stairs, shattered back windows, at least three people in need of a hospital visit, one of whom was folded into the couch. Oh, and the bombs.

this cold open after the chapter ending in 'he was flooding the house' is so fucking funny. i love pact. really increasingly bewildered by people who talk about pact like it's just a miserable slog of Bad Things the entire time because it's extremely evident that wildbow was intentionally adding humor. like the end sentence of the previous chapter being "he was flooding the house" is already funny on its own--there's inherent humor to the fact that this fancyass ominous haunted house which people have tried to sue over the integrity of is getting put thru every possible thing you'd want to call your property insurance about in one single arc. and then wildbow doubles down on the already comical image by having blake--who's already been calling rose's parents "rose's parents" for an entire arc now--ignore the murder-happy witch hunter in the room to suddenly revert into saying that Mom and dad are going to be soooo mad, emphasis on the sooooo, like he's a teenage valley girl lamenting the outcome of a particularly disastrous house party. "one of whom was folded into the couch." "oh, and the bombs." Pact Is A Horror-Comedy. and furthermore a good book

[twilight-zone-as-tma-fears]

I love The Twilight Zone, and I love The Magnus Archives, so I’m re-watching the entire show and assigning one of the 15 fears to each episode! my main blog is @soph-the-podcast-nerd.

this is just for fun, I might be wrong about a couple of them because I’m not a professional physiologist or anything lol

the 15 fears: (from the magnus wiki)

The Buried

The fear of small spaces, suffocating, drowning, being buried alive. Fear of everything crashing down around/on oneself. Fear of being trapped without enough space.

Manifests as caves, dirt, financial issues, heavy rain, underground transport, tight spaces such as coffins

The Corruption

The fear of corruption, disease, filth. Fear of the feelings of disgust, revulsion and the things or beings that might evoke such feelings.

Manifests as mould, bugs, rot, decay, infection, the feeling of one's skin crawling. Can also manifest as unhealthy love and companionship.

The Dark

The primal fear of the dark, of the unseen, and the creatures hiding from our view.

Manifests as creatures hidden in the dark, shadow figures and monsters, blindness, coldness, dark water.

The Desolation

The fear of pain, loss, burning, and destruction, especially with a senseless cause.

Manifests as fire, wax, heat, burns, destruction of potential.

Followers are enriched by destroying the lives of people who had things to live for, and destroying things before their potential is realised.

The End

The fear of death itself—⁠uncaring and unstoppable, the fear that everything ends eventually.

Manifests as bones, various forms of the dead (skeletons, mummies, zombies, etc.). Also has close ties to dreams and can manifest through them.

The Eye

The fear of being watched, exposed, followed, having secrets exposed. Can also pertain to the drive to know and understand, even if your discoveries might destroy you.

Manifests as eyes, security cameras, a creature or figure that keeps constant watch. Often manifests in libraries and books.

The Flesh

Born from the fear held by animals bred for meat, and in the human realisation that we are just animated meat and bones.

Manifests as meat, corpses, blood, bones, butchers, meat-related industry. Often manifests as strange bodies—bodies being unnaturally twisted, reshaped, and butchered.

The Hunt

The animalistic fear of being chased or hunted; the primal fear of being prey.

Manifests as predators, predatory monsters, animal instincts, animalistic traits.

Takes hold of apparently "normal" people after they are exposed to the need for The Hunt. Self-proclaimed monster hunters might become 'Hunters' and proceed to develop a need to hunt and kill monsters.

The Lonely

The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone or disconnected from the rest of society.

Manifests as fog, large rooms, silence, suburbs, empty rooms, crowds of faceless people.

The Slaughter

The fear of pure, unpredictable, unmotivated violence. The fear of pain coming at sudden, random moments

Manifests as people driven "mad with Slaughter," soldiers, music that either induces Slaughter or warns that Slaughter is coming. Often manifests in imagery of war or murder, and can appear wild like a frenzied killer or calm and regimented like soldiers firing on the battlefield.

The Spiral

The fear of madness, that the world you know is wrong, that your mind is lying to you. Fear of deception, lying, deceiving of the mind and senses.

The Spiral appears with imagery of spirals, patterns and fractals, and often manifests as hallucinations or illusions.

The Stranger

The fear of the unknown, the uncanny, the unfamiliar. The creeping sense that something is not right.

Manifests as beings and aspects of beings that provoke an "uncanny valley"[33] response: human and other being-adjacent forms, such as mannequins, wax figures, masks, and taxidermy. Often manifests in theatres and performances.

The Vast

The fear of heights, falling, and large open spaces including sky, space, and deep water. More broadly: the human fear of insignificance and meaninglessness, of losing oneself in too much space.

Manifests as void, wide-open spaces, vertigo, falling, the transformation of something that should have a limit into something infinite.

The Web

The fear of being controlled or trapped, especially being unaware of one's own entrapment. The fear of being forced to do things against one's own will, of being manipulated. Also the fear of spiders.

Manifests as spiders, spider webs, web-like patterns, puppets.

The Extinction

The fear of catastrophic change, destruction of nature, destruction of human skin and tissue, the destruction of humanity itself and its replacement by something different; all of this especially via mankind's own causing.

Manifests through human technology such as computers, code, and radio, and seems to present horrifying visions of what humans could become, or what could become of humans.

For the twilight zone, ive noticed there are two kinds of episodes: episodes that target a specific fear, especially during that time period, that are meant to be more frightening, and episodes that are more fantastical and is not meant to be as scary. For the first kind, I’ll be assigning based on the fear it targets, and for the second kind I’ll assign based off the character’s fear/view or the premise.

Also, i give a summary, but it is brief and I highly recommend checking out the episode. The twilight zone really revolutionized science fiction and its just. Aaa its so good please watch it.

(im sorry my intro post is so long!!!) I currently don’t have a schedule for when I post them its just whenever I feel like it

[thehipovercor]

I lied, i drew Marty and Carpal again lol I'm sorry

I worked a lil with @shadowwing13 (owner of Carpal/Renard) and I decided I'd try writing some fiction for the first time in I have no idea when. Thanks, college, for obliterating my will to be fun :') Anyway it made me sappy and I drew the above of my blorbos

It's under the cut, yo

hi sorry to make you look at this lol

    I woke up and the world was dark. I felt something surrounding me and the suffocation of a tight space; I panicked and lashed out. I don't know why. The barriers of the world tore by my hand and stars poured in all at once. They were cold.

    Night in the pit of a valley. I didn't recognize the jutting stones until I had finished bursting forth and landing on my face. I don't know why my hands were wet. Ten digits, the one I had lost returned to me, stuck onto long palms; my left was marred by the same brilliant light that had blinded me for a time. Saint Paul didn't have claws but I did now. I checked over myself and couldn't muster any comment at the foreign skin I found myself in. Some kind of man-turned-animal. Whatever I was, I believe I deserved to be.

    "Juliana?" ...but the question didn't come out. The shell I was in spoke for me, shrieking once. I let it cry out as I attempted to stand up, sick of the soil clinging to me. I stood not like the finely bred lapdogs I spoke with her about but as one of the strays that'd beg from me during lunch. I looked up and searched and in the moment I regretted not being kinder to the dogs. Behind me was a horrible something. It was black and purple and familiar and alien and it had held me for… I didn't know what day it was. I had spoken hideous things in the springtime and went for a walk to collect myself for her, but the air was crisp and the grass looked as though it were dying. It didn't feel like the end of the world. I trembled from both the chill and enormous weight of burden. An animal. Turned into an animal to better carry the weight of my sin. Ashamed as I was, I did feel stronger-- built for a task. I don't know how long I shivered there before finding the trail back home. I limped the entire path. No one else walked in that valley at night.

    "Juliana?" I didn't let the body make any sound that time, although I wasn't sure if I actually spoke. I had navigated around the other houses and no one was awake at that time to catch me. My front door was locked. The broken window, however, was not. I climbed inside and landed unceremoniously. "Are you there? Hello? Hello!" I shouted but the body whined. No reply. Maybe that was preferable. The room I landed in was a bedroom no longer, instead being used for storage of some kind. None of the items were familiar, nothing we would have had in our possession. I cracked the door open and was met with someone else's home. I felt my skin prickle and my ears pin back. Pin back? Animal. Whomever lived here brought a mirror, I could see it, and the choice was obvious. Carefully, so quietly, I crept over and was met with the horned face of the devil staring back. Frills, horns, bulbous eyes of a similar fantastical orange the master painters used. Scars crackled across my right cheek. I was not an animal after all! I was lesser. I strained to not scream, I couldn't risk startling anyone awake to catch me. I slipped back outside until I could bolt to the wilderness to hide in the underbrush. Time didn't matter anymore, I ran and I ran until I slipped and fell back to the dirt. Less than a beast! I was the burden to bear! I cried and I howled until daylight reached through the canopy. I'm not sure if I was thankful no one came to check.

    I frightened a few hunters over the next week as I darted out of their sights. I had learned the hard way that I was still vulnerable after a father instructed his son to aim for a sturdy tree, the boy missing and firing into the underbrush where I laid. I growled, low, and did not allow myself to be envious as the pair discussed how impressive the shot was despite missing. How I missed, already, the casual conversation between family. I waited until they left and had to pull the arrowhead out of my shoulder. There were worse places to be shot by a child. I bled the familiar purple of that soft thing I had fought out of days ago in the dark. The wound seemed to seal itself before I could tend to it. No animal did such a thing when hunted. I sat and thought, another thing no animal could do. I could think, I still felt emotion, yet I felt no urge to harm or kill. Everything settled into shame and guilt, a great vast guilt. Was I greater or less than an animal? On a bright and sunny day, birds over my head singing as though I did not scare them, I sat and wept again. I had to check if I was still worthy of being saved. I wouldn't find it if I hid again.

    I took up a tree branch and walked part of the way. North. I didn't merely remember, I knew the way north. I may have been restricted to moving through the nights but I walked like a man. As the journey became subconscious I took more time to think and more time to practice speaking. The body I was in could not talk but, somehow, I willed myself to speak. I heard my voice echo once. "I LIVED." How disheartening it was to not feel my breath! Even stale air would have been a relief. Yet I heard it echo: "I LIVED." A voice with no air behind it. Perhaps I was thinking wishfully as the reality attempted to creep in yet again. I kept walking and relearning how to be myself but I felt the burden in my chest with every step. Physically I did not tire, barely dozing in the daytime between trips. I was a stumbling thing in the dark, leaning on a tree limb for security. I felt invincible. I felt vulnerable. I could bleed but not breathe. I did not yearn for a meal yet when thirst encroached I felt the ache in every pore of my skin. I drank from wells when I could and muttered thanks and apologies for stealing. I could wash my face. I almost felt better afterward. My heart remained heavy until I acknowledged it: I could feel it beat, slow yet with an unfamiliar intensity. A drum? Perhaps like a great drum -- when I allowed the grief to settle in I could hear my pulse and the more I tried to deny the noise I worried more and more and more and... It was a great number of times I had to stop and stand, hand clutching at my breast. I thought I would die. "I LIVED." And yet even if I had lived, something felt so deeply wrong.

    I quickly learned that keeping all of my previous dignity was slower. I prayed for forgiveness as I stole some rope from a small settlement. If there were a way to repay them I would with interest. The branch would join me if I needed it: I tied it to my back and allowed myself to run like a dog. If I didn't tire, then perhaps it was a blessing for speed. The travel time reduced and I practiced talking during the dawn. I benefited from being both man and beast, yet wondered what he would think. I called upon the branch as I walked the old, sleepy roads of his village. Familiar. His studio was locked but I could more than easily reach his hidden key. I caught myself smiling wondering how he could possibly reach it himself. Surely if I boldly entered with my best manners, he would realize who I was more quickly.

    No one was home; I do not believe anyone had been home recently. All around me, candles burnt to dripping stumps, the odor of rotting foodstuff, scattering mice, and-- It caught my eye. There was a piece of paper laying delicately, untouched apparently. Some type of letter, in French. "To the Journeyman Painter Renard, we..." it began. I wasn't aware I could still feel ill. A letter informing him of my death. I knew him, how sensitive he had always been. The correct summer sunset would bring him to his knees. I had seen him during the news of his nephew passing away, how he seemed to crumple for a child he had never met. How would he mourn for me? Did I matter to him in the same way he mattered to me? Surely he was alive, here, asleep in his bed. I'd appear and show how my practice of talking has progressed and tell him I'm alright. He would clean up and I would help him make a bowl of soup and... And I discovered he wasn't in his room. A painter would be in his workplace, of course. I didn't hesitate and the sound of the bottom of the branch hitting the floor was loud enough to warn anyone of a presence. "Renard?" This time I heard my voice reverberate off the wall. I was about to reach to swing the entry curtain away when my foot kicked something that I felt pierce skin. I paused and watched the small blade spin against the ground until it stopped at a wall. Dirty. Something dusted off the metal from the impact. My scratch no longer registered.

    Moonlight streamed into the studio, the flecks of dust being the only movement. The same black thing I had emerged from sat in the center of the room, the violet glow interrupted in my view by lonely easels. All of the energy I had to make my speech dissipated. I don't know what I felt. Maybe I felt everything. I approached. I saw the canvases. I clutched the branch and fell and I wept. I let my shell weep too. Each canvas was a place we had been. I saw the river we had sat by as I taught my own son how to fish. I saw the birch he kept returning to so he could vent his troubles to me. I saw the bakery where he had watched me spill flour across the floor, laughing as he jumped to help me sweep before the bakers got to me. Landscapes, damaged by exposure. How long had he been gone? Scenes that had been lived in yet offered no figures. There I sat, in a scene as the only figure. I gripped the branch until my hands ached. It felt like my last hope was waiting for me to do something. How my hands ached.

    The sound of movement snapped me out of a trance. It was daylight again. My legs were numb and the branch had divots from my fingers pressing firmly against it. Surely I would have noticed the mice. I blinked a few times and heard the sound again. Before me, I watched familiar panicking hands puncture out of the blackness. I mustered a dry voice. "Renard...?" The hands paused, the claws curling. I braced myself and stood up again by myself, leaning against the soft part. I helped them dig. I reached into the filth and pulled somebody out, dripping. Somebody reached out and pulled at my arms. I saw no horns, no frills, no orange eyes. No scarring on the face I recognized. Inhuman but so human.

    "Renard?"

    He blinked.

    "My grief, Renard! It's me! It's me. Friend, look, it's me. I'm here. I promise it's me."

    I placed him on his feet and took his head in my hands. I would have begun crying if I had any tears left. My heart was pounding. Perhaps he could hear the drum. "Renard, please! It's me! You're you! I lived! It's me, I lived! You're alive!"

    He blinked again and made a sound like one of the birds from the wilderness. I kept repeating "it's me, I promise" as I allowed him to move his hands from my arms to wrap around my back. I picked the branch up from where I dropped it and wrapped my arms in turn.

    "You're alive, I promise. I'm here."

[supernovaa-remnant]

Hei hei hei

https://www.tumblr.com/writing-prompt-s/725377575947534336/you-used-to-be-the-scourge-of-kingdoms-the-reaper

Hunter/Warrior!Dream and history nerdbur 💀💀💀💀 wil got bored one time and decided to stalk that one legendary immortal reaper who just disappeared one day

hii how are you doing today? :)

Had a lot of fun with this one so it's gonna get a bit long lol. Or, maybe not super long, but it feels dense to me. I've packed it with a lot of worldbuilding. There's still cute madduo moments but this is actually mostly worldbuilding oops.

(this is written as platonic intimacy, but y'all can interpret it however you'd like)

Millennia ago, Dream was a feared warrior and necromancer who was practically a god. Some even argued that he was a god or that he made a deal with one. Some stories said he toppled empires with the Blood God, whilst some stories made it seem like the toppled empires were merely a casualty of fights between the two. (Both were right to some extent: Dream & Techno were long time rivals but also friends, and they often turned their toppling of empires into a competition of sorts).

Dream ended up befriending two mortals: Sapnap & George. They went on many adventures together, and, for a while, they were even known as heroes to some. All of them were legends in their own right, and the Dream Team were known throughout the lands. But only one of them had the benefits of immortality. Eventually, Sapnap & George died, and that was when Dream disappeared. He took away most records of himself when he left, and all that was left were stories told by word of mouth and old books in the back of very old libraries.

Wilbur is a scholar from a small town in one of the many kingdoms in the land. His favorite pastimes include annoying his younger brother (Tommy) and researching forgotten and forbidden history. A part of his fixation on history comes from the fact that he knows nothing about his biological parents—he remembers cold yet comforting embraces, the sounds of crows and ravens, and faded voices telling him stories. He was found by Tommy's parents when he was very little, and they've been the only family he's known.

One day he finds a story about Dream, and something about the story feels so familiar, so he begins to search for anything and everything he can find about this mysterious legend who seems to have been erased from history. He spends many nights holed up in his room trying to figure out where Dream disappeared to and most importantly why.

At some point, Wilbur is on the verge of making a discovery. A big discovery. As in, he's about to connect some dots that point towards the world as they know it being in danger. However, after he goes to sleep that night, he wakes up to the village burning. He manages to get Tommy out, but their parents aren't so lucky. All of Wilbur's research has gone down the drain. But, luckily, he has a good idea of where Dream has been this whole time.

But there's one problem: Tommy. Tommy's not quite an adult yet, and for all the teen proclaims himself as "a big man," Wilbur can't put him in danger. Wilbur ends up taking him to a friend's place in the nearest city (it's Schlatt's place who's Tubbo's dad—yay clingyduo). Tommy argues because he wants to go with Wilbur. And, maybe it's a shitty move because their parents just died and it's understandable that Tommy would want to stay with his only living relative, but Wilbur leaves in the middle of the night. (He leaves a plush sheep named friend for Tommy <3). (Also this 100% leads to clingyduo sneaking out themselves and looking for Wilbur. They end up running into an enderman hybrid with amnesia but who may or may not have some connections to a certain Blood God).

Eventually, Wilbur ends up in the hidden valley where Dream resides. Dream, feeling someone pass through the magic wards is understandably cautious. So he goes to investigate (re: hold an axe to Wilbur's throat), but then in a very uncertain voice, Dream asks "are you Phil and Kristin's son?"

Now, Wilbur is, understandably, confused. Because he doesn't recognize those names. Because he grew up with adopted parents. So, then, he turns to questioning Dream despite still having an axe to his throat.

The thing is, Wilbur undeniably has traces of Phil and Kristin. There are his looks, of course, but Dream's a necromancer who's spent much of his immortal life in the presence of gods despite not quite being one himself. He can feel death lingering around Wilbur in a way it only would with a child of death. But, Wilbur doesn't show any signs of godhood nor immortality nor magic. He doesn't show any signs of being a hybrid either. It doesn't make sense.

So, in the end, Dream ends up as fascinated with Wilbur as Wilbur is with him.

Wilbur sticks around. It's due to a mix of factors: their mutual interest in one another, the fact that it's safer for Wilbur within the valley, and because of what Wilbur knows. The information he's discovered that put him at risk in the first place is something Dream needs to know.

As Wilbur sticks around he's introduced to Sapnap & George—

("I thought they were dead?"

"And? I'm a necromancer."

"Ah, yes, of course. Then where are they?"

"My necromancy abilities may be slightly weaker than they used to be. They're ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

"But they're able to occasionally take a really cute blob form.")

—and learns more about why Dream disappeared, and more about who he truly is. Dream's the protegee of one of the elder gods—ExDee—and he was on the path to godhood before, well, everything. ExDee noticed a corruption beginning to spread that could affect even the gods. So, to stop the spread, xe (xe/xem pronouns for ExDee because, uh, yes) sealed xemself in The End and locked the dimension away from the other realms. It worked, and it rendered the corruption within ExDee dormant, but it was too late—due to ExDee's connection with Dream, Dream was also affected.

That's the true reason Dream disappeared. He cut off all contact with the other gods (and this is why his necromancy powers are weaker—he could still raise armies of the undead, but to breathe life and souls back into a body requires special favors from Kristin), and he magically sealed himself into a hidden Valley. The corruption, when magically cut off from the rest of the realm, remains dormant, but Dream can't leave because he hasn't found a way to purge it completely.

Unfortunately, it seems that the origin of the corruption has found more ways to worm itself into the realms.

Dream & Wilbur work together to try to find solutions to this. Wilbur helps the dream team in their research on how to purge the corruption from Dream, and they also work together to try to learn the origin of the corruption and thus how to defeat it once and for all.

Through this all, though, Dream is doing some research of his own: most importantly, he's trying to figure out why Wilbur doesn't show obvious signs of being Phil and Kristin's kid and why he doesn't know his parents.

(The reason he doesn't know is because Phil & Kristin & Techno and a bunch of other gods were essentially called away due to the corruption worming its way into the overworld. They didn't know anything about it due to ExDee & Dream disappearing before they could share what they knew, so it was an unknown variable. Phil & Kristin sealed Wilbur's divinity to keep him safe).

Whilst all this happens, Dream & Wilbur get closer. Dream's the only person Wilbur can talk to (he can't see ghosts and he can't understand Sapnap & George when they're in their blob form), so he gravitates towards the immortal a lot.

They'll dance in the kitchen, cook together, cuddle in bed, garden, and overall do a lot of domestic stuff. When they're researching they get distracted by their banter which inevitably ends with the two of them laughing from the dramatics of it all. They'll read stories whilst curled up next to one another. It's overall really soft.

One night they're stargazing and Dream shows Wilbur some of his scars. There's intimacy in the way Wilbur softly traced the marks. It was at that moment that they both realized how close they'd become and how much they cared for each other.

Soon, Dream finds a way to break the seal on Wilbur. Dream's told Wilbur some stories about his parentage (which Wilbur soaks up with rapt attention), so Wilbur's excited to unlock this part of himself.

It goes worse than they'd hoped. Turns out, the seal also locked away his avian heritage, so he immediately begins the winging process which usually happens when avian hybrids are fledglings. It's really, really painful, and the entire time Dream's calling upon any healing magic he knows to ease the pain.

Wilbur passes out for a week, but he's okay in the end. Dream spends a lot of the time hovering in worry, and Sapnap & George end up taking shifts watching Wilbur just so that Dream will get some sleep. (Most of the time Dream falls asleep next to Wilbur anyway, but at least he's getting rest).

The recovery (and discovery) period for Wilbur involves him leaning on Dream for a lot of stuff. Though, with his newfound connection to death, he can actually interact w/ Sap & George in their ghost forms, so a lot of the time they'll snitch on Dream whenever Dream is overworking himself. When this happens Wilbur basically drags him to bed for cuddles under the guise that it's for Wilbur's benefit.

Dream guides Wilbur through his new powers to the best of his abilities, and Dream also preens Wilbur's wings (he has experience, luckily). Wilbur wants to learn to fly, but that's an area that Dream can't help with.

("How about you just jump off the roof?"

"Sapnap! You're going to get him killed."

"Wait that's perfect. Wilbur. Wilbur. Join the ghost squad. We're so much cooler than Dream."

"George! Stop! Wil, why are you laughing? They're trying to kill you!")

(In the future, Techno will find his way to Dream's valley, asking for help in saving Phil & Kristin. He'll be oh so familiar to Wilbur, and Techno will look at Wil and wonder how much time has passed. The toddler he told stories to is now fully grown.

Techno will speak of a child from the end with memory problems who may be a key part in stopping the corruption. Eventually this will lead them all to bench trio—and Tommy will yell at Wilbur for leaving him—and the story will have a happy ending, though not after plenty of hardship.

For now, though, there's impromptu karaoke nights, pillow fights, and stargazing. There's naps on the couch and arms wrapped around one another. There's teasing and banter and dramatics fitting of theater kids. There's forehead kisses and nose boops and intimacy. For now, there's a moment of peace—a calm before the storm).

[atherix]

📓📓📓👀

Oh ho ho alright then <3

FIRST AU you get is one you already know all about, however I will talk about it anyway because I love it; my pirate AU.

In this one, Scar is the youngest Elven prince, the sparest of the spares of the heir, and one day just ups and disappears, stealing one of his mother's naval ships on his way out. This world is sci-fantasy but the Elves, while they definitely have a compulsion magic and Uncanny Valley going on (think eyes a little too large, teeth a little too sharp, mouth a little too wide, skin a little too smooth- like a porcelain doll, or a finely crafted mask) do not have the level of magic they do in Midnight, and the Elves are rather technologically advanced as far as society goes.

So Scar steals an Elven naval ship, and the thing about Elven ships is, through a combination of clever architecture and nigh-incomprehensible redstone engineering, can fly. The ship has wing sails. So Scar now has this amazing vessel that no one outside of the Elven kingdom has ever seen, and ofc the outside navy wants it, as do certain pirate crews...

Now, Scar builds a little, but loyal, crew and embraces his new title of pirate. Mumbo is his first mate and by the time the story starts they've already become lovers- which a lot of people think Mumbo absolutely mad for, because Elves were once upon a time predators of humans and humans (and related species) still feel an instinctive fear of them. They're being chased by the navy, the Elves are searching for their wayward prince (no one on the crew, not even Mumbo, knows Scar is a prince), and Ren- a rival pirate- is chasing them because he, too, wants the flying ship. Shenanigans ensue, Grian is acquired (and he has his own mission which Scar and Mumbo offer to help with, which he only accepts after he finds out the ship can fly), there's a literal ocean of sand somewhere along the way... and along the way Scar and Mumbo's relationship, which starts pretty surface-level based on mutual attraction, deepens into actual genuine love, and then Grian gets thrown into the mix and kfdjkgfdjkkj-

SECOND AU you get is the Dragon Hunters AU, loosely based off of HTTYD, in which Mumbo and Xisuma are brothers. Xisuma is the chief of their... village, I suppose you can call it; the village started as a band of dragon hunters many many many years ago, and their ancestors got stranded and settled down, and now they still go out to hunt dragons but it's more of a self defense thing now. Mumbo, being the wet cat mechanic he is, is a terrible dragon hunter. His family and village love him of course but no one really believes he has what it takes. Grian is his best friend and the one person who believes him him 100%, but Grian has some secrets of his own.

Scar is a dragon rider, a clan of Elves that have adapted to live harmoniously with dragons (LOOK you can pry Elf Scar from my cold dead hands I am not letting him go). He's the younger brother of Gem, who is the princess and heir of their Elf clan. Scar is absolutely fascinated by the complete wet cat energy Mumbo gives out when he fails to kill a dragon, this time not out of inability but because he doesn't have the heart to, and thinks this one can be redeemed (Scar had gone to save the dragon from Mumbo but would have arrived too late had Mumbo not been a soft heart).

Anyway that's. Pretty much all I have for this lmao

THE THIRD AU you get is Mumbo Lives In A Sentient House And The House Is Grumbot AU. I need. A better name for it. But basically Mumbo is a hermit, possibly a vampire again because vampire Mumbo is just so good, but also possibly just Some Guy™ or something a little eldritch flavored. Either way, he lives in a house- a manor or maybe even a castle- that is continuously changing. Its walls change, its layout changes, doors change location, windows change, rooms move, stairs disappear. This house likes no one BUT Mumbo, and Mumbo lives peacefully and safely inside. Of course Grian and Scar, two guys who grew up in the village the home overlooks and heard all the stories of hauntings and mysterious disappearances, go to the house because Scar's cat, Jellie, ran inside an open window.

Once more, Mumbo's absolute wet cat energy combined with his much more aggressive house is just. Mwah. Sadly I don't have much more on this AU, as it's more of a plot bunny, BUT. Here it is <3

[dw-tma]

Descriptions of the Fears from the Magnus Archives Wiki:

The Buried-

“The fear of small spaces, suffocating, drowning, being buried alive. Fear of everything crashing down around/on oneself. Fear of being trapped without enough space. Manifests as caves, dirt, financial issues, heavy rain, underground transport, tight spaces such as coffins.”

The Corruption-

“The fear of corruption, disease, filth. Fear of the feelings of disgust, revulsion and the things or beings that might evoke such feelings. Manifests as mould, bugs, rot, decay, infection, the feeling of one's skin crawling. Can also manifest as unhealthy love and companionship.”

The Dark-

“The primal fear of the dark, of the unseen, and the creatures hiding from our view... Manifests as creatures hidden in the dark, shadow figures and monsters, blindness, coldness, dark water.”

The Desolation-

“The fear of pain, loss, burning, and destruction, especially with a senseless cause. Followers are enriched by destroying the lives of people who had things to live for, and destroying things before their potential is realised. Manifests as fire, wax, heat, burns, destruction of potential.”

The End-

“The fear of death itself—⁠uncaring and unstoppable, the fear that everything ends eventually. Manifests as bones, various forms of the dead (skeletons, mummies, zombies, etc.). Also has close ties to dreams and can manifest through them.”

The Eye-

“The fear of being watched, exposed, followed, having secrets exposed. Can also pertain to the drive to know and understand, even if your discoveries might destroy you. Manifests as eyes, security cameras, a creature or figure that keeps constant watch. Often manifests in libraries and books.”

The Flesh-

“Born from the fear held by animals bred for meat, and in the human realisation that we are just animated meat and bones. Manifests as meat, corpses, blood, bones, butchers, meat-related industry. Often manifests as strange bodies—bodies being unnaturally twisted, reshaped, and butchered.”

The Hunt-

“The animalistic fear of being chased or hunted; the primal fear of being prey. Manifests as predators, predatory monsters, animal instincts, animalistic traits. Takes hold of apparently "normal" people after they are exposed to the need for The Hunt. Self-proclaimed monster hunters might become 'Hunters' and proceed to develop a need to hunt and kill monsters.”

The Lonely-

“The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone or disconnected from the rest of society. Manifests as fog, large rooms, silence, suburbs, empty rooms, crowds of faceless people.”

The Slaughter-

“The fear of pure, unpredictable, unmotivated violence. The fear of pain coming at sudden, random moments. Manifests as people driven "mad with Slaughter," soldiers, music that either induces Slaughter or warns that Slaughter is coming. Often manifests in imagery of war or murder, and can appear wild like a frenzied killer or calm and regimented like soldiers firing on the battlefield.”

The Spiral-

“The fear of madness, that the world you know is wrong, that your mind is lying to you. Fear of deception, lying, deceiving of the mind and senses. The Spiral appears with imagery of spirals, patterns and fractals, and often manifests as hallucinations or illusions.”

The Stranger-

“The fear of the unknown, the uncanny, the unfamiliar. The creeping sense that something is not right. Manifests as beings and aspects of beings that provoke an "uncanny valley" response: human and other being-adjacent forms, such as mannequins, wax figures, masks, and taxidermy. Often manifests in theatres and performances.”

The Vast-

“The fear of heights, falling, and large open spaces including sky, space, and deep water. More broadly: the human fear of insignificance and meaninglessness, of losing oneself in too much space. Manifests as void, wide-open spaces, vertigo, falling, the transformation of something that should have a limit into something infinite.”

The Web-

“The fear of being controlled or trapped, especially being unaware of one's own entrapment. The fear of being forced to do things against one's own will, of being manipulated. Also the fear of spiders. Manifests as spiders, spider webs, web-like patterns, puppets.”

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION “Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death” [ 4.10 ]♮PART 1, half 2

INT. YACHT - YINDRA’S ROOM - DAY

The next morning, Yindra opens the door, only to discover a package has been left for her and Heather outside their room. Upon further inspection, she finds instructions on the front dictating that this contains the outfits they should wear for today’s activities.

Okay then… Yindra unfolds the tissue paper, retrieving the clothes. On top, as far as we can see, it’s just a standard issue plain white tank top.

INT. HOSPITAL - KENNETH’S ROOM - DAY

The good news (depending on your opinion) is that Kenneth survived the heart attack. He’s back in his room after an overnight and early morning in the ICU, and his condition has stabilized enough for now.

The bad news is, that little wake-up call to his declining health has done a number on everyone’s mood. There’s not much optimism left to go around, delusional as it may have been, so all that’s left is the fatalism. Kenneth has lost just about all of his endearing charm from yesterday, now tired and noticeably grouchier. He’s short with the nurses, and keeps shrugging off all of the small ways Grace tries to lend a helping hand while the doctor walks them through what happened last night.

Doctor: … as it is, cardiac irregularity and arrest is a fairly common side effect of cancer at this stage. So it wasn’t necessarily a signifier of…

Kenneth scowls to himself, hardly listening. The details don’t matter -- nothing can change that fact that he’s dying, and he almost did a few short hours ago. He’s got a glint in his eye, the glimmer of all the frustration simmering under the surface.

Lucas recognizes that glint. He knows it all too well. And usually, if he was smart, even a hint of that glint meant he was better off making himself scarce. Even if it’s not a sure-fire guarantee of trouble, and Kenneth is far from likely to try anything in such company, Lucas figures he shouldn’t try his luck.

So he makes himself scarce. He slides away from the wall and back out the door, leaving them to their debrief. He doesn’t want to hear it anyway. He doesn’t want to know in exactly what ways his father is deteriorating.

No one notices he’s gone.

INT. HOSPITAL - WAITING AREA - DAY

Lucas pushes through the double doors and back into the waiting area, taking in a deep breath of cold, sterile air. It doesn’t help -- it doesn’t ease the constricting feeling in his chest. He can feel his hands starting to tremble, like they did when he was working at Adams, so he balls them into fists.

He exhales and turns around just in time to see JACK HUNTER enter through the arch to the lobby. Somehow showing up at just the right moment.

The two of them exchange a silent look. Lucas says nothing, expression still characteristically indistinct, but Jack has had enough practice reading the subtleties to understand.

Without a word, he gestures Lucas towards him, then starts to head back through the archway. After a beat, Lucas follows, happy for the excuse to walk away for a minute.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

There’s some not-so-lovely surprises in store for the folks on the west coast when morning comes too. Farkle is scrolling through it that morning -- a smattering of new stories about Isa have hit the tabloids, and none of them are flattering. It seems like at this point, some people are just profiting off their misery whatever way they can, even if it’s all nonsense.

One direct quote doesn’t sound like nonsense, though. It sounds legit, because Farkle knows he said it.

“‘It’s hardly surprising to see it all blowing up like this for them,’ one insider told us. ‘They’ve never had good luck with this stuff. It’s like a neverending Greek tragedy. I don’t see how this will be any different. De La Cruz has a knack for destruction. Given their mother, is it any wonder?’”

Jordan. He’s pulling exact phrases from their conversations, twisting them around and putting his own spin on it. Given their split, Farkle can’t help but think the phrasing is intentional, too -- it’s not about the convenient payout.

He wants Farkle to see this. He wants him to know, wants to hurt both of them.

Isa: Did you see the one where they call me Rosemary’s baby?

Farkle jumps, lifting his gaze to find Isa leaning against the wall outside his room. They nod towards his phone. Clearly, they’ve seen the worst of it already.

Farkle: No? What the fuck. Isa: Hey, I’m not mad about it. I actually thought that one was at least a little creative. You know, if I were half the devious mastermind some of these people must believe I am, I’d be living the fucking life right now.

Farkle doesn’t see how Isa can make jokes about this. Sure, say you get used to it all you want, but he doesn’t buy it. They shrug, plopping down on the couch opposite him.

Though Farkle has bigger reason for personal upset. He hedges for a moment, then confesses, telling Isa that he’s near certain Jordan is part of the crew leaking these stories.

Isa: Wow. Farkle: I’m so sorry. Like, so fucking sorry. I should’ve never talked to him about you. Or like, any of it. I shouldn’t have -- Isa: What? Not… talked to your boyfriend? That’s kind of how relationships work -- at least the good ones, as far as I’m aware. It’s not your fault he’s a pretentious jackass who apparently has nothing better to do than play petty mind games with his exes. Farkle: Yeah, but…

He still feels terrible. For not listening to people sooner; for not being able to shield Isa from the worst of it, especially when he knows some of the calls are coming from those formerly inside the house. Isa gives him a nudge, shaking off his melancholy.

Isa: Hey, come on. Lighten up. If I took all the shit that got said about me in these things personally every time, I wouldn’t be able to function. In fact, I basically used to do that, and we saw how often that turned out well. I was way more unhinged then. Farkle: … as opposed to…

Har har. Isa rolls their eyes, then leans back so they can kick their feet up and show how unbothered they are -- right on top of Farkle’s lap while they’re at it. He casts a side-eye at their socked feet dangling off his legs, but doesn’t push them off.

Isa: For real, don’t worry about it. If I think it’s a real problem, I’ll let you know. But again, I don’t wanna think about this right now. I wanna spend time hanging out with my best friend, not… harping on all this B.S.

Farkle supposes he can respect that, but their way of going about it might be more complicated than before. With this new wave of media blitz, Isa is going to be more noticeable, and wandering around these popular places isn’t going to be so fine and dandy. Farkle isn’t sure they’ll be able to do anything without being hounded.

Farkle: Might have to go into lockdown mode. Isa: Um, no way. I’m not letting your fuckwad ex -- Farkle: Maya’s used the term “limp dick,” if you want to borrow that one. Isa: That is incredible. But I’m not letting Jordan fuck with our time together. If we wanna go out, fuck it, we’re going out. [ lighting up with an idea ] And I think I have an idea as to how.

The twinkle in their eyes is equal parts impish and intriguing. Farkle looks a bit hesitant, because who knows what an Isa idea is going to be before it comes out of their mouth.

But he’s already on board. He knows he is. Isa gives him a smirk.

INT. MCNAMARA HOME - LIVING ROOM - DAY

Curled up on the couch together, Zachary and Ruby look at the same tabloid articles about Isa. Zachary shakes his head at one that claims Isa was “kicked out” from the MacNamara home for their “bad behavior.”

Zachary: It’s ridiculous. That’s not remotely true. Ruby: You can tell it’s B.S. given how vague it is. Didn’t even take the time to at least make up what exactly this bad behavior is. It’s not only offensive, it’s just lazy. Zachary: They’re twisted. Where are they even getting their “insider information?” I’ve never understood -- the people in this industry who would…  Ruby: And you’ve been in it for decades. Imagine how Isa must be feeling. [ a beat ] Don’t you think we should get in touch? Just make sure they’re alright. Zachary: I tried when they left. You know I didn’t get through. I don’t want to put more pressure on them. Ruby: True… but maybe in this case, you need a little nudge.

If the alternative is deterioration, isn’t it worth the risk? Zachary runs a hand through his hair and sighs as he gets up from the couch. 

Zachary: What would I even say? I’ve never had to… and I’m just as useless with this tabloid stuff. I spent so much time avoiding this kind of thing, and now I’ve got nothing. [ off her nod of acknowledgement ] How do you approach this situation?

Ruby thinks on it… then lands on a bright idea.

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

ERIC MATTHEWS is dutifully at his desk at Adams, but his focus is admittedly torn. He’s balancing following the Isa saga -- and waiting for any emergency outreach they might send him -- with keeping up with the Friar situation, getting updates from Jack and Riley. On top of that, he has to run a whole school… so basically just another day.

He perks up when a call comes through on this phone, expecting Isa. He figured they would reach out again once this stuff continued leaking to the press…

But it’s not Isa. Their caller ID lights up with a new name. Zachary MacNamara.

After a pause, Eric gets his reflexes to work and picks up.

Eric: Hello?

INT. MACNAMARA HOME - STUDY - DAY

Zachary hesitates himself, not sure what to say. Although they’ve corresponded regarding Isa before, this is the first time they’ve ever interacted by a medium other than text. The scene continues, split between them.

Zachary: Um, hello. This is Zachary. MacNamara. Eric: So I saw. Nice to actually chat, though not under these circumstances. [ a beat ] I’m assuming you’re calling about the tabloids? Zachary: If only that were the only thing. Isa -- [ embarrassed ] It seems I’ve proven myself incapable of parenting.

Isa has disappeared. Poof. Although that news isn’t unwelcome, Eric reacts more calmly than Zachary expected. He doesn’t judge Zachary, and he isn’t even surprised. Isa has gotten much better about coping mechanisms, and grown a lot in the last few years, but sometimes they still default to their old escape routes. This reaction isn’t unheard of.

Eric: Do you know where they are? Zachary: Yes. We have a P.I. looking into the leaks, and as a bonus, I may have had them… keep an eye out. For them. Eric: So you had someone track them down and tail them. Zachary: I’m not proud of it. I didn’t know what else to do when they didn’t respond to me. Eric: Hey, no judgment. If I had those resources at my disposal, believe me, me and my partner would probably do the same. Believe it or not, Isa’s friend Lucas is even more slippery.

Scary thought. Zachary exhales.

Zachary: Anyway, didn’t need to do that for long, because we know they’re in a safe place. They went -- Eric: To Farkle. Their friend. [ a beat ] Am I right? Zachary: Suppose I wasted my money on the P.I. How did you know? Eric: Educated guess.

There’s a reason they called him -- he knows Isa too well.

The question is, can he help get them back home… Zachary sheepishly admits that he feels very out of his depth. In all honesty, this whole situation is overwhelming enough for him on his own. Having to navigate the Isa of it too, when he doesn’t feel like an expert in it by any means…

Eric: You’ve been doing this longer than me, but as far as I can tell, I think that’s just fatherhood.

Zachary laughs lightly, nodding. Fair enough. With that in mind, Eric claims Zachary doesn’t need to think of Isa as necessarily all that different from his other kids. The individual details are different, of course, but the instincts are the same.

Which mainly means putting himself out there and getting back in touch with Isa, and giving it his best shot to communicate. Should he manage that, Eric does have some tips.

Zachary: Is there anything I should keep in mind in how to handle it? I don’t want to do anything that’ll make things worse. Eric: I get that. The first thing is to be honest. Easier said than done, I know, but it really is essential. Isa will respond much better if they get the sense that you feel just as uncertain as they do, because you can bond over that. You’re in it together, rather than them being the burden. Zachary: Right. Exactly. Eric: And when I say be honest, I mean be as clear and blunt as possible. Don’t feel like you have to sugarcoat. If you go too vague, leave any room for misinterpretation, I promise you they will jump to the worst possible conclusion as they fill in the blanks on their own. One of their less-than-stellar habits that they’re still working on.

Makes sense. That’s why communication is so important… but Zachary does have to strike a careful balance here. He was right about that. It’s key for Zachary to reach out, to keep the line open, because silence like they have right now will just signal to Isa that they don’t care (even if that’s far from true). But beyond that, he needs to be patient -- forcing a conversation when Isa isn’t ready won’t do any good. They need to come around on their own time, when they’re emotionally ready. So long as Zachary keeps signaling that he’s there, that he’s open for whenever and whatever Isa is prepared for, they will come back eventually. Eric has faith.

Eric: Basically, everything you’ve been doing this whole time. You are trying your best, and it’s making a difference. The fact that nothing had happened up to this point is pretty impressive, to be frank. Zachary: Well, thanks. I’ll try to keep that in mind when the doubt comes creeping in again.

Zachary thanks Eric for taking the time, and for coaching him through this. He’s sure he’s busy, and as an adult he shouldn’t need this guidance. Eric shakes his head with a smile.

Eric: Hey, it takes a village. We’re part of the same tribe now.

So they are -- and what would we do without our tribes... Zachary returns the sentiment and promises him he’ll update if Isa doesn’t.

EXT. YACHT - UPPER DECK - DAY

Another day, another picturesque catered breakfast out on the deck. Yindra emerges into the sea breeze and makes her way towards the food, now donning the outfit she was assigned -- plain white tank top, dark wash skinny jeans.

It looks like that’s the uniform of the day. All the girls are dressed in the tank and jeans combo, nearly identical in look yet naturally carrying the look in different ways. Body shape, skin tone, height… it all seems to be drawn in even sharper contrast with the unassuming plain wardrobe.

Heather has donned hers as well, looking a bit washed out in the white with her bleached hair. She waves Yindra over to join her.

Before Yindra can head over with her breakfast, though, she’s detoured by a couple of the label producers present. They kindly ask Yindra if she has a second to chat. Figuring it’s better to agree, Yindra nods and allows them to lead her off to the side, towards the railing and out of earshot of the other girls thanks to the breeze.

The conversation starts amicably enough, both of them curious to know how Yindra is experiencing the retreat thus far. Is she having fun, has she found any challenges, etc. Yindra keeps her answers vague and polite, not wanting to say anything that might dash her chances or make her look bad.

Then it gets weird.

Producer A: Glad to hear it. So, what do you think of Kimmy? Yindra: … sorry? Producer A: Kimmy. The redhead. Pretty good dancer, eh? Yindra: Oh, yeah. Yeah, she’s… she definitely has skill. Producer B: We’re not sure about her harmonizing though. Not the best at sight-reading. Producer A: And between us -- she seems like a bit of a ditz. Not a whole lot going on upstairs for such a pretty face.

Yindra blinks. She isn’t sure she disagrees with their assessments, at least at this point, but she doesn’t feel comfortable speaking on them either.

Producer A: Though Tabitha doesn’t seem much greater in that department either. Producer B: Don’t you think? What’s your read on them, Yindra? [ with interest ] Anyone you think is stiff competition?

They’re trying to get something out of her. She doesn’t know what, but the way the conversation makes her feel sends a signal loud and clear. She’s heard tales of how this industry pits women against each other, the underhanded maneuvers that thrive on backstabbing and gossip. She just didn’t realize she’d bump up against it so fast -- let alone from professionals who may not even pick her in the end.

Suppose that’s part of the appeal, though. Endear yourself to the higher-ups, knock down your competition in the process. How much of your soul are you willing to trade to get a step up the ladder…

Not only that, but what might others have said about her when caught in this exact same moment?

Wisely, Yindra side-steps the question. She claims everyone seems like pretty decent competition so far, which if they’re looking to build a supergroup, is probably how it should be. Then she excuses herself with class, stating she’s absolutely starving and needs to fill up before more hard work that day.

So she escapes this mouse-trap unscathed, but she can’t shake the foreboding feeling she just got a little taste of the rest of her career.

INT. SUMMER’S PLACE - DAY

Vanessa is spending time with SUMMER LIONS after staying the night, and based on their conversation, we get the sense that this has been a common refuge for her while she’s in a cold war with her parents.

Today though, the focus is on the Turner audition -- or rather, not focusing on it. Summer is doing her best to get Vanessa to take a much needed mental distance from it, even if briefly, so she doesn’t psych herself out before it.

And this works… mostly. It gets thrown out the window the moment Vanessa gets an email from Turner admissions, giving her the time slot for her audition tomorrow. She shares it with Summer, who whistles.

Summer: Any idea where in the line-up that is? Vanessa: I think earlier, but near middle of the pack. Summer: Do we like that? Vanessa: I honestly don’t think it matters. Either I make an impression or I don’t. Whether I’m first or last isn’t going to make much of a difference.

And given she’s spent the last few days basically scrapping her entire routine and starting from scratch, searching for something more authentic, she can only hope it pays off. Summer grants her that momentary moment to obsess over it, before insisting they go back to pretending it’s not happening.

Summer: I’m thinking coffee. You want coffee? Maybe with a little shot of something. It’s that kind of weekend.

It sure is. Vanessa nods, letting Summer head towards the kitchen. She tries her best to put the audition out of her mind, but she can’t help but glance towards her phone again. Curious about one factor in particular…

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - DAY

And that factor has just received his time slot, too. He’s later in the evening, a couple of places after Vanessa.

But he doesn’t think to tell her about it. That’s not his first thought. Instead, the instant he receives the time and has a second to process it, he copies the info and texts it to Charlie.

It feels like agony for the next minute or so, Zay impatiently waiting for him to see it and text back. He needs to know ahead of time whether he’ll be there or not. Not that it matters -- not that it’ll make any difference. He just wants to know.

Just his luck, Charlie is better at responding than in the past, and it’s good news.

“It’ll be cutting it close with my other thing, but I should be able to be there!”

“Where is that in the line-up? Do you know?”

Zay can’t help but smile, exhaling a sigh of relief. Once that urgent item has been addressed, the rest of his brain resumes working… and he remembers there’s someone else he should probably check in with. No clue if it’s technically allowed, given their strategic embargo, but he braves shooting Vanessa a text with his time slot.

She responds with hers, confirming the reality that they’re nearly back-to-back. Because of course. It would be so easy for them to be able to be there for each other, to catch the other’s audition while they’re waiting for or wrapping up theirs.

But neither of them make that offer. Neither claim they’ll be there to see the other. That part of the embargo seems sturdily in place.

That said, Zay does at least extend the curiosity of good luck, sending her a “break a leg.” After a moment, she responds.

“Same”

“(Not literally)”

Zay scoffs a light laugh, shaking his head. It might feel more jovial, good-natured, if the threat of competition wasn’t so real that they felt like they couldn’t speak up to this point in the first place.

The heat persists, coast to coast…

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

But it’s absent from Global Beat, where Josh is enduring the drudgery of an abysmally slow day of flipping through cold submissions to the producers. It’s not even a work day, so he must really be bored to be hanging around at the office, but it’s not like he has much better to do. As a creative starved of creating, even this feels better than wasting his afternoon doing nothing.

But his mind isn’t really on the submissions from nobodies. He keeps letting his gaze drift towards Melissa and Justin’s offices, thinking about the songwriting retreat he’s not on. Not so much because of what they might be crafting there, but more so what they left behind.

He can’t believe that Maya’s demo portfolio is as bad as she claimed. He especially can’t believe that dismissal came from Maya herself of all people -- he wonders what it must be like if Justin and Melissa have decided it’s worth turning her confidence down so many notches.

But it’s not his business. She’s not his client. Those demos were intended for Justin and Melissa, not him. Maya said they weren’t worth listening to. That should be that.

And yet…

Maybe he’ll just sneak a listen. Just to see what it’s like. It’s not like anyone is around to know, and he can think of it as a learning opportunity. A chance to see what Melissa and Justin see and determine why they decided to shelve them. A reverse autopsy of sorts. Just a little side project, a way to occupy his idle mind.

Even though there’s no one else around, Josh treads quietly as he heads towards Justin’s office.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - JUSTIN’S OFFICE - DAY

Josh slips into the office and makes a beeline for the computer, pulling out his thumb drive. He’ll just save a copy for himself and listen later. No harm, no foul.

It takes a second to find the files though, because Justin’s computer is a damn mess. So many files are on the desktop, scattered with no rhyme or reason, it has to be a crime. Josh cringes at the disorganization -- and opts not to let himself think too deeply about some of the questionably named folders he glimpses (dudes being dudes, or whatever…) -- before navigating to Google Drive.

He finds the shared folder from Maya, beginning the download. While he’s waiting, he’s surprised to find that according to the data details, Justin hasn’t clicked into this folder at all. If Google is to be believed, Justin hasn’t opened any of the demos on this account.

Well, maybe he listened with Melissa. Or through a different account or device. Something like that. Josh doesn’t dwell on it, too focused on getting out of there with the goods without getting caught even though there is quite literally no one else around to catch him.

Mission accomplished. Once the download is complete, Josh yoinks his thumb drive and makes a break for it, slipping out of the office as if he was never even there.

Melissa, pre-lap: Okay, clearly, there are bare bones here. We’ve got something to start with.

INT. MALIBU LAKE HOUSE - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

As rousing as Melissa sounds as she says that, the reality of their songwriting session isn’t so peachy. Although Maya did scrounge together some creative ideas during her high, in the light of day the three of them seem to be struggling to build anything concrete out of them. The juices still aren’t flowing; the pieces aren’t clicking together.

Part of this is because for whatever reason, Maya still can’t seem to get on the same page as them. Every suggestion she has for how she wants to gear things, they have some sage wisdom that warrants shooting it down. And every time they take a stab at giving it some direction, Maya finds herself averse to it.

Maybe they just need something to grease the wheels as they still find their footing. Justin claims he has just the solution -- the secret sauce that gave Maya her epiphany last night. He’s got some leftover coke from the party, and he at least thinks he could use the pick-me-up. Anyone else game?

Melissa opts in, climbing to her feet from the floor to help him cut the lines. Maya hesitates, uncertain -- she’s not sure she wants to establish the precedent of needing a hit to make a hit -- but it did work so well last time. It loosened her up, and while the three of them are still finding their creative footing, who could it hurt?

Not to mention, it’s another chance to bond, and Maya doesn’t want to pass that up. So she agrees to the little “boost,” coming to join them at the piano and happily accepting a playful elbow nudge from Melissa.

INT. THRIFT SHOP - DAY

Isa and Farkle are up to some mischief of their own, raiding a local neighborhood costume and thrift shop. Isa’s bright idea for bypassing the tabloid scrutiny is simple -- they won’t be themselves today. They’re searching for disguises to adopt new personas for the afternoon, allowing them to traverse the world as someone else entirely.

Presently, Isa is debating which wig to go with, holding out a redheaded and platinum blonde option when Farkle rounds the corner of a rack of clothes and rejoins them. He raises his eyebrows in amusement, having already donned for himself a pair of chunky sunglasses and an absolutely horrendous patterned parachute jacket.

Farkle: The one on the right looks like vintage Lady Gaga. Fame Monster era. Isa: That’s perfect, then. Gotta go with that one.

It is paparazzi they’re punking anyway… Isa puts the red wig back and then switches focus to Farkle, unimpressed by his choices. He still looks exactly like himself, just with an ugly puffy coat. He scoffs.

Farkle: Rude. And I don’t see how it matters -- you’re the one who needs to hide. Not me. Isa: No, that’s where you’re wrong. You’re my associate, so you’re equally as culpable. Farkle: Isa, I swear to God, not one person in the media circus could give less of a shit what a skinny freshman from USC is doing. Isa: It’s the principle of the thing. Honestly, what happened to your flair for theatrics?

If he’s going to insist on being boring, Isa will just make his disguise for him. They take his arm and drag him through the aisles, picking up new elements for the look as they go -- dark-haired curls wig, equally ugly bucket hat. Farkle obediently lets Isa play dress-up, crouching down so they can put the wig and hat on his head and adjust it just right. Then they look him over, temporarily removing the sunglasses and sticking their tongue out as they contemplate… then they decide what is missing, getting the attention of the store owner.

Isa: Do you happen to have a pen?

The owner doesn’t have time to question what the hell they’re up to, freaks, so long as they’re going to pay. They hand over a black pen which Isa takes happily, turning their attention back to Farkle. They take his face in their hands and pull him closer, uncapping the pen and carefully drawing him a brand new beauty mark on his cheek.

Once they’re done, it suddenly hits them how close his face actually is. Centimeters away from theirs, blue eyes looking at them expectantly… is it suddenly hard to breathe in here?

Farkle: Well?

Isa glances at his lips, currently so conveniently close to their level…

Isa: You look like a desperately fashion-challenged Eurotrash tourist.

Farkle cracks up, and shoot, does that smile make Isa’s veins feel like they’re loaded with electricity. To dampen the power, they slip the sunglasses back onto Farkle’s face for him to complete the look -- and spare them from having to look into his eyes any second longer.

All that leaves is for Isa to get their look together, now that they’ve gathered all the pieces. Then they need to hit the town already -- if they’re so styled like gauche European tourists, then they better act the part!

They disappear into the dressing room, flashing Farkle a grin before flicking the curtain closed with a flourish…

Executive, pre-lap: As I’m sure you’re all well aware, a look can make or break an act.

INT. YACHT - LOWER DECK - DAY

By early afternoon, the reason behind Yindra and the other girls’ identical stylings becomes apparent. As they’re all gathered in the lower deck for their next session, the producers introduce a couple of new CONSULTANTS from the label, specifically from the marketing division.

Behind Yindra, Aleena leans over to whisper to Ronica.

Aleena: Aren’t we in the middle of the ocean? How the fuck did they get on the boat? Ronica: Maybe they were hiding here the whole time. Or they snuck them on in the middle of the night. Maybe helicopter. Aleena: Insane. This is some secret society shit.

As for why they’re here… the fun times might be over. If the singing and dancing challenges didn’t feel intimidating enough, strap in, because these consultants are here to chime in on the most brutal aspect of the industry there is -- appearances.

The parts of yourself you really can’t control.

All of the ladies are asked to line up along the wall, then given a number to pin to their shirts. This is to keep things “neutral,” supposedly -- to allow the consultants to speak candidly without having to associate a name (rather, a human being) to their critiques. It feels a bit like some of the early open calls they did for this, when Yindra went for the initial auditions.

Only this time, the judgment is public, for all to hear. And they don’t hold back.

The consultants begin at one end of the row, with Tabitha, having her step forward and give them the chance to circle her. They take her in from every angle, look her up and down, scrutinize every detail.

Consultant A: Bit skinny. Consultant B: True. But a variety of body types would be welcome. Consultant A: Want to avoid the body image criticisms again, though. Consultant B: Well, she’s young. That allows for some leeway. Consultant A: Diversity is good, too. Pretty, but ambiguous, which is a plus.

They speak about her as if she’s not even there. Tabitha keeps her head held high, trying to let it roll off her back and make a good impression, but even she seems a bit stung by the comments.

It continues like this along the row, the consultants making broad snap judgments from a pure marketing perspective -- what will “sell.” What will “look right.” It’s not about the person, but the packaging. As we zoom through the line…

Consultant A: Bit pale. Consultant B: Very round face… Consultant A: Would definitely need to shed a few pounds. Mainly in the hip area. Consultant B: Lip filler would help here. Consultant A: Couldn’t publicize it, though. Consultant B: Very dark skin. Consultant A: Pretty, but not very memorable. Smile? [ a beat ] Okay, nevermind.

Not every participant reacts the same way. Some take it silently, like Aleena, who keeps her expression impressively unreadable as they pick apart her height and debate whether her facial features are “too sharp” or just right. Others take it in stride, like Madysin, who plays into the intrusion like any skilled influencer raised on TikTok would -- she even wiggles her butt a bit as they’re getting a good look, just to prove how unbothered she is.

Others, such as Sloane, don’t go quietly.

Sloane: [ as they’re assessing her physique ] In case anyone forgot, I’m seventeen. [ with bite ] Just a minor reminder…

Not everyone needs to be on defense, though. When it’s Kimmy’s turn, she uncertainly waits while being scrutinized, not projecting any sort of over-confidence. But whatever she’s got in her genes, they seem to love it -- as white and pretty privilege usually affords.

Consultant A: Gorgeous. Consultant B: So pretty. Excellent build. And look at those freckles. Consultant A: Yes, those will sell well. [ to Kimmy ] Are you a natural redhead? Kimmy: Um… yes.

That sounds like exactly what they wanted to hear. A couple producers at the table make notes after that exchange.

By the time they make it to Heather, Yindra next on the row, the relentless commentary towards others has started to feel unbearable. And they’re just as blunt with her.

Consultant B: Quite thin. Look at the collarbones. Consultant A: Yes… pretty face. Nice features. Consultant B: Bit washed out with the hair, though. Consultant A: Hair can be changed. Consultant B: Most things can. We’re looking for minimal expense here.

Heather doesn’t respond, staring straight ahead, but there’s hints in her expression that indicate the criticism might be getting to her. She winces slightly when they continue to pick at her body, clenching her jaw. However, she manages to survive her turn.

Then, Yindra is up. She steps forward as instructed, keeping her expression squared and mentally working to stay calm as they begin their assessment.

Consultant A: Interesting facial features.

Okay… well, suppose that could be good or bad. Yindra keeps her chin up.

Consultant B: Beautiful skin. Consultant A: Though a bit petite. Consultant B: Skinny, for sure.

All right… Yindra forces herself to breathe slowly, not letting it get to her.

Consultant B: We do want variety, though. Consultant A: But variety in the right places. There’s already plenty of thin to go around here.

At that, a few rows down, Ronica -- who is certainly a bit fuller figured -- subtly rolls her eyes.

Consultant A: And with this, there’s really no additional assets to fill it out. Consultant B: That’s true. Very flat.

Okay, for the love of God. Yindra can’t help it -- the snap slips out before she can stop it.

Yindra: Well, as long as my voice isn’t, does it matter?

Oop. The consultants stare at her, surprised to be spoken back to. Down the row, the other girls cast wide-eyed looks in Yindra’s direction. Aleena raises her eyebrows; Tabitha looks like she’s trying not to laugh. At the table, the producers jot some notes of their own.

Well, that’s just swell. Yindra clears her throat and goes silent, but the consultants seem done with her anyway after that little comment. They move on to the next girl, Yindra keeping her gaze straight ahead and trying not to think about all the eyes still lingering on her.

INT. HOSPITAL - CAFETERIA - DAY

Jack has managed to nudge Lucas into the cafeteria, sitting with him at one of the smaller tables with some lunch. He’s doing his best to encourage him to eat, even if he doesn’t think he needs it.

Jack: We don’t want another repeat of Adams. Lucas, tired: I’m not hungry.

This time, unfortunately, it sounds like he means it. This aversion to eating is different than last semester. Stress starvation is one thing, a self-fulfilling prophecy that can only be broken when it’s pointed out how hungry you actually are. Anxiety ambivalence is another beast entirely -- and paired with preemptive grief, no matter how complicated, it’s a hard battle to win. It’s bottomless; it’s base.

Even so, Jack persists.

Jack: Take one bite. All right? You put one forkful in your stomach, I’ll stop hounding you. I swear.

Lucas gives him a look -- yeah, right -- but the request works. He reluctantly stabs a piece of lukewarm cafeteria food and puts it in his mouth, chewing like it’s a chore.

Jack will take it. In an effort to distract him and ideally keep him subconsciously snacking, Jack takes up the brunt of the conversation. He starts to mindlessly talk about what’s going on at the school board, what Lucas has missed since he was dismissed from Evelyn’s office. Lots of boring, bureaucratic stuff, naturally.

But Lucas doesn’t want to talk about that. Catching Jack by surprise, he asks something else entirely.

Lucas: Do you remember when your dad died?

Jack pauses, not sure he heard him correctly. It seems like an unexpectedly vulnerable question for Lucas to ask… but no, it did come out of his mouth. He’s looking right at him, waiting for an answer, so he must’ve heard right.

Jack: It was quite a long time ago. Relatively. But… sure. It’s hard to forget, losing a parent. Lucas: Even if they barely counted? Jack: Yes, even then. [ a beat ] It’s not the same, of course, but I can imagine some of what you’re feeling. The… confusion. When someone doesn’t show up for you the way you’d like, you’d think it would be easy to deal with. That it wouldn’t be so… overwhelming. Or that the feelings about it would at least be straightforward. Lucas: Yeah. Jack: But it’s not. It’s complex. [ a beat ] Rare thing that isn’t. Lucas: What about now?

After all this time? If it was such a long time ago? Jack contemplates the question, trying to choose his words carefully. He knows Lucas is searching for guidance of some kind, probing Jack’s experience for answers to his own that he can’t possibly give him. So all he can offer is the truth.

Jack: It’s less so. With time. Just because… well, life moves on. I’ve moved forward. I’ve got a lot more things to focus on than something I lost over twenty years ago -- you know, like the delinquent slicking my floors with mayonnaise.

Lucas rolls his eyes, but that does manage to earn the shadow of a smile.

Jack: I try to give my father a bit of grace, or at least as much as I can. He wasn’t a great dad, but to be fair, he wasn’t very much there, period. I don’t know how much I did or didn’t know. All I know is that holding onto the resentment, shouldering all those mixed feelings, requires a lot more energy. I didn’t want to walk through the rest of my life with it. So I try to… let it be. Let it rest with him. Again, it’s not an apples to apples comparison here -- my dad wasn’t Kenneth -- but in either case, you can’t control it. You can only control yourself.

It’s complicated, and confusing, and Lucas just has to let himself feel all that. He will have the time to work through it, to decide how he feels, in the days and weeks (and years) that follow. Right now, he just needs to get through it, one day at a time.

Jack: And eat. Eating is important.

Always the self-care with this guy… Lucas begrudgingly takes another bite, though, so mission accomplished.

After another long beat of silence, he speaks again, barely a murmur.

Lucas: I’m scared.

Jack frowns, expression laced with sympathy. Wishing there was more he could do, knowing how fragile Lucas’s confession is in his hands. But he doesn’t have the answers. He can’t make it better. So he does the only thing he can, the thing he’s done since he stuck his neck out and fell down the rabbit hole of Lucas James Friar all those years ago.

He sees him, and meets him in the middle.

Jack: I know.

Sometimes, acknowledgement is all you need. Lucas dips his head down and focuses back on his food, not saying anything further, but the weight on his chest feels a little lighter simply through sharing the load with someone else.

EXT. HOLLYWOOD WALK OF FAME - DAY

The same could be said for Isa, though through much lighter fare. Farkle is helping carry their load as they goof around in their alter ego disguises, currently traversing the Hollywood walk. Isa’s final look really does look Gaga Fame adjacent -- it’s somewhat jarring to see them with such bright hair.

That said, underneath the costumes, it’s still Farkle and Isa, and they’re true to form as they bicker about minute trivia regarding the names on the walk of fame they’re passing. Their energetic debating is enough to catch the attention of the passersby around them… including a PAPARAZZO hanging around on the street corner.

He seems to have been especially caught by Isa. They can’t look away from them, certain that something about them seems familiar… and smells a lot like a potential payout.

Isa notices the lingering gaze, turning away and cursing under the breath. Farkle glances around in concern and Isa tips him off to the pap, evidently frustrated that they might still get clocked even with their silly efforts to be anonymous. Farkle frowns, casting another glance towards the photographer… then he does the only thing he can think of to do.

He starts arguing. Loudly.

Isa stares at him, stunned by his sudden outburst -- and even more confused when they realize he’s not speaking English. Farkle is yapping at them in polished, semi-fluent French, leaning into their “Eurotrash” persona with true theatrical dedication. He peppers in a few English words here and there, just to sell the tourist thing, but for all anyone around them would be able to tell, he’s a pissy Frenchman very irritated with his Eurotrash travel partner.

Farkle: [ in French ] I swear, you don’t know a thing! Absolutely nothing! This is exactly why I didn’t want to come to America. But no, you insisted. “It’s our honeymoon,” you said. [ in “broken” English ] Ha! Honeymoon, indeed!

Well, if they didn’t have the attention of the photographer before, they certainly do now. Isa continues to stare at Farkle, eyes wide, bewildered and a little bit enthralled by his bizarreness.

Isa: What are you doing? Farkle: [ under his breath ] Play along. [ loudly, again, in French ] This is exactly why I told my mother this would never work. So incompatible. The taste you have, it’s just -- ugh!

Well, if there’s one thing Isa can pretend to do well, it’s get into an argument. So although they have no idea what Farkle is up to, they trust him and dive right in, snarking back -- only in Spanish instead. They don’t know what Farkle’s saying, so they make up their own side of the debate.

Isa: [ in Spanish ] Oh, I’m the one who got us lost? You have the navigational prowess of a one-eyed mule! Stubborn as one, too! Farkle: [ in French ] Don’t you take that tone with me. Do you have any idea who my father is? Oh, wait, yes, of course you do -- it was he whomst you asked for my hand in marriage before I entered into this hell of a commitment!

Literally, this whole thing is utter nonsense -- but if you speak neither language, like the paparazzo, then you wouldn’t be able to tell either way. Which is why it’s particularly startling when Farkle suddenly turns to the photographer and addresses him directly.

Farkle: Hey, you. You! There! Paparazzo, unnerved: … who, me? Farkle: Yes. Oui. You have been watching, no? Been listening? Paparazzo: I -- uh -- Farkle: [ in French ] Good. Then you can tell my partner here how utterly wrong they are, because surely you heard as much. Go on, tell them! Isa: [ in Spanish ] No, no, do not listen to him. Whatever he’s telling you, he’s a liar, and a freak. He belongs in an insane asylum. Don’t believe a word he says. Paparazzo: [ deeply uncomfortable ] I -- I don’t speak --

Farkle and Isa continue to talk at him, raising their voices in intensity. After another minute of this, the paparazzo bails, stating he has to go and making a beeline down the street. Farkle and Isa continue to yell after him, shouting nonsense in their dual languages… before making eye contact and descending into hysterical laughter as soon as he’s gone.

Isa: Dude, what the fuck was that? What were you even saying? Farkle: Doesn’t matter. So long as it made him freaked enough to leave, I figured that would do the trick. Isa: You’re insane. I can’t believe that worked. Farkle: [ with a shrug ] I’m really good at making people uncomfortable.

And boy, did those instincts come in handy now. He’s spared Isa another intrusion of privacy… and somehow endeared himself to them even more in the process.

Isa: Well, thanks. For humiliating yourself on my behalf. Farkle: I’d do it any time.

It kind of takes their breath away, how selflessly he throws himself into the line of fire for them. How he doesn’t hesitate to do the wildest thing possible, because that’s how his wacko mind works, but also because it’s for them. He’s creative, and crazy, and Isa is thoroughly convinced there’s no one in the world quite like him.

And if he keeps looking at them like that, sincere and so perfectly Farkle even underneath the disguise, they might do something incredibly stupid. So Isa breaks the moment, offering a smile and lightly punching his arm.

Isa: Come on, I’ve got like three more blocks of trivia to correct you on. Don’t wait up.

Farkle stands still for another beat, mentally stuck in the before. He watches Isa walk away from him, chest light and airy yet burdened with the weight of so many different feelings he doesn’t know where to begin to unpack it all. Happy they’re there; irritated that they seem so unbothered and confident around him when he sure doesn’t. Nervous for reasons he can’t pinpoint, and on edge with some of that tension that used to always exist between them that he didn’t understand. Old buried sensations, ones that once felt inscrutable until they developed into high-definition in his mind, now peeking out through the cracks in his resolve and blossoming anew.

But mainly, he’s grateful. Grateful that Isa is still there -- that in spite of the low tides, and petty fights, and distance physical and emotional, he still gets to call them a best friend. That somehow, they get to spend even one more minute together.

One minute at a time. That’s not a lot to ask. They can work with that.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “The Next Ten Minutes” as performed by The Last Five Years Original Off-Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Isa De La Cruz (starting at 00:40)

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

Farkle starts off the intricate duet from where he’s watching Isa ahead of him. The world seems to fade away around them -- like there’s no one else on the crowded, touristy streets of Hollywood. No one else that matters, anyway.

Isa glances over their shoulder at him, offering another smile. Farkle mirrors it, wanting to savor the simplicity of this moment.

For the next ten minutes We can handle that

Then he finishes out the delicate first verse, transitioning around the 1:45 mark…

INT. IMAGINATION SPACE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Back to the imaginary stage, where Farkle has now descended his acting block and taken center stage under the lights. Except he’s not quite center -- he’s slightly stage right, leaving an empty space opposite him on the other side. Behind him, the others are silhouetted on their blocks as usual, only one more space is vacant than usual.

Farkle’s look here is more true to his eccentric sensibilities, the ones that had been so tamped down in the last semester. He’s wearing shimmery black pants, similar to the ones he wore during his “Not The Boy Next Door” performance all those years ago. But the top half of his ensemble is more subdued, styled more mature -- a loosely fitted black linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and topped off with a pinstriped black vest. To a keen observer of media that has oft been alluded when it comes to these two, it may look like a subtle nod or two stylistically.

More than that, his heart is on his sleeve here. In this space, where only true emotion is allowed, Farkle’s confessing to a lot more than holding out for the next ten minutes. When it comes to Isa, he doesn’t just count the minutes -- he wants it all.

He wants it real.

There are so many lives I want to share with you I will never be complete until I do…

Then the lights dim on him, casting him in slight shadow, as the camera pans… and lights come up on the other side of the stage, where it felt empty before. Isa is there now, taking up the other half of the duet, picking up on Cathy’s very fitting verse. For their ensemble, they seem to also be emulating the slight regency vibes, wearing a black cropped waistcoat. They’ve paired it with high-waisted dark slacks, but all of it is partially obscured by the oversized long coat they’ve donned over top.

The nods continue…

EXT. HOLLYWOOD STREETS - DAY

Isa carries on the internal serenade as we shift back to reality, watching them galavant through Hollywood. They’re still in their silly disguises, but it hardly matters -- all Isa sees is Farkle, mask or no mask, their best friend and closest confidant. The person who baffles them, and gets in their head just as easily as he can pull them out of it.

Farkle says something that makes him crack up at himself, that unabashed grin taking over his features again. The one that hasn’t graced his face much this past semester, that seems to arise so naturally when he’s in the company of his equally eccentric best friend.

I don’t know why people run I don’t know why things fall through I don’t know how anybody survives in this life without someone like you

Isa would do anything for that smile. They know that. And even though all of their instincts always tell them to run, to protect and preserve, they can’t seem to do that with him. They never could.

INT. IMAGINATION SPACE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Isa launches into the swell of their verse, singing with marked passion as they look out into the darkness.

I want to ease your strife I want to stay by your side

Once Isa hits the end of the phrase, and utters “forever,” the camera begins to ease out and rotate, showing that they’re no longer standing on the left of stage alone. They’re now at center stage, sharing it with Farkle, the two of them standing back to back -- and at the same height, thanks to the acting block Isa has borrowed to keep them on the same level (as they’re usually wont to do).

Then their parts finally meet, overlapping and intertwining as they swap roles. Farkle now takes the Cathy lines while Isa picks up Jamie’s, both building in intensity until they’re belting with everything they’ve got. Behind them, the ensemble fills in some of the soundscape with vocal harmonies emulating the instrumental accompaniment, adding sonic layers to the arrangement.

Once they both make their heartfelt declarations, and Isa utters the first “I do,” they slowly turn to face one another. By the time they’re harmonizing again, they’re face to face, seeing one another for the first time during the duet in this space, and the effect is downright hypnotizing. They’re seeing each other up close and personal, back in this position they’ve seemed to find themselves in so many times before, inches apart and on the precipice of something new. Something dangerous.

Something real.

The two let their vocals float away as they get lost in one another, trapped in that gravity…

EXT. HOLLYWOOD STREETS - DAY

But in reality, just their shared company is enough. While the violin takes over the piano in the arrangement, the two of them get caught in a moment with a safer distance between them, exchanging bashful smiles when they realize they were both looking at one another. Farkle looks away first and takes the lead this time, letting Isa watch him walk away.

One minute -- or ten -- at a time. They can handle that.

That’s enough. 

INT. IMAGINATION SPACE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Farkle and Isa stay locked in place on stage. Allowing the piano outro to take over, words worthless at this point. Letting the distance between them dwindle away… their lips could nearly graze if they just moved a centimeter…

But the world dims away before anything more, piano tapering off as the lights go down and leave them hidden in the darkness once again.

INT. HOSPITAL - WAITING AREA - DAY

Jack walks with Lucas back into the waiting area, the two still chatting quietly. By happenstance, they cross paths with Kenneth just as he’s being led back from another hallway where he had diagnostics done, Grace and another nurse helping him make the trek back to his room.

When Jack and Kenneth meet eyes, for a second there’s nothing but shock. Shock on Kenneth’s part to see Jack at all, to allow a former colleague and acquaintance see him like this; shock on Jack’s for exactly that point. Kenneth almost doesn’t look like himself, and it’s been such a long time since Jack last saw him. If he didn’t know all that was going on, he might not even believe it was him.

Once that initial shock wears off, something shifts in Kenneth. For whatever reason, seeing Jack Hunter of all people there, letting him see him in his weakest state, triggers something inside him. A rage he’s been keeping well under wraps, an urge to lash out that only the deepest insecurities can provoke.

Kenneth: Well, look who decided to pay a visit. Came to see me off, Jackson?

His tone is friendly, as much as his fatigued state can manage, but the venom underneath it isn’t that well concealed anymore. Jack can sense the backhanded edge to it, the desire to get a rise out of him -- he’s seen enough of that quality in his own life. Lucas and Grace recognize it instantly, too, the former tensing slightly next to Jack.

Jack tries to ignore the bait, staying professional, but that only makes Kenneth more irate.

Jack, to Lucas: I can come back later, if -- Kenneth: Oh, so you’re not even going to say hello? Am I dead to the world already? Or would you really rather just stand there talking to my son? He’s not much of a conversationalist, you know. Or well, I guess you would know -- you’ve sure spent a bizarre amount of time with him to say so. Grace: Kenneth…

So he clearly wants something from Jack, even if just acknowledgement. Jack takes a deep breath and does his best to maintain his composure, facing Kenneth again. Even with the safe distance between them, the tension is thick. Lucas doesn’t move -- he isn’t sure he can.

Jack: Hi, Kenneth. It’s good to see you up and moving. Kenneth: Oh, don’t talk down to me like that, Hunter. We all know you’re just loving this. Jack: … I would never take joy in -- Nurse: We really can’t be having this kind of behavior in the -- Kenneth: Come on, we don’t have to beat around the bush anymore. I’m dying, remember? Might as well get it all out in the open. You’ve been inserting yourself into my personal business long enough, it’ll probably be a relief when I’m gone and you can just swoop right in to take it all over.

Lucas pipes up before Jack can respond, voice cold with anger.

Lucas: Shut up. Kenneth: Ha! Really? You’re going to tell me to shut up? When I’m in the fucking hospital? Nurse: Okay, that’s enough -- Grace: You’re making a scene… Kenneth: Damn right, I’m making a scene! I don’t want this bastard here while I’m here! I don’t want him anywhere near my people.

Honestly, for a beat, it’s not clear whether Kenneth is talking about Jack or Lucas. But he continues on even as the nurse and Grace continue to nudge him towards the double doors, very obviously not as control of his faculties as he once was.

Kenneth: Hey, isn’t this supposed to be immediate family visitors only? In case you forgot, Hunter, you’re not family!

They manage to pull Kenneth through the doors, removing him from the unexpected confrontation. Now Lucas is fully triggered too, and it looks like he has half a mind to go after him -- also forgetting time and place -- but Jack takes his arm and grips it tightly to hold him in place.

Jack: No. No. It’s not worth it.

Like hell it is. Lucas stays frozen for a second, then pulls his arm away from Jack. He crosses his arms and folds in on himself a bit, retreating back through the archway towards the lobby.

Jack frowns, glancing towards the double doors before going after Lucas.

INT. HOSPITAL - KENNETH’S ROOM - DAY

Once the nurse has gone to get the doctor, Kenneth rounds on Grace instead. It’s hard to tell how much of his illness is talking, at this state of decline, but the filter seems to have flown completely off.

Kenneth: I don’t want that smug son of a bitch anywhere near me -- anywhere near you while we’re here. Did you let him in? Did you ask him to come? Grace: I had no idea Jack was planning to visit. I don’t think it’s so weird that he would. He’s been a big help to Lucas -- Kenneth: [ ignoring the Lucas of it all ] Oh, yeah. I bet you don’t think it’s all that weird. Grace: … what is that supposed to mean? Kenneth: Come on, Grace. I’m dying -- we can take the gloves off.

That sounds like something Grace definitely doesn’t want. She can’t remember a time she would’ve thought the gloves were on with him.

Kenneth: Was he good? Was it worth it? Grace: What are you talking about? Kenneth: How many times did he have you? A couple? A dozen? Lord knows I was out of town enough times to make it easy for you. Grace: [ totally gobsmacked ] Wh -- you think I -- with Jack Hunter? Kenneth: Is it all that ridiculous? It would sure explain why he has such a perverted obsession with our family. I can’t think of any other reason why he’d want to put so much effort into spending any time with Lucas --

Grace literally can’t believe her ears. In an instant, she knows Kenneth is worse than he looks. Something truly is breaking down inside him. He’s always had a hot temper, she’s no stranger to that, and God knows she’s not unfamiliar with his cruelty. But this is a new level of callous -- this is just unhinged.

Remarkably, knowing that, Grace finds it in her to stay together.

Grace: Ken, you’re being hysterical. Kenneth: Me? I’m being hysterical?! Grace: Yes. You’re not thinking clearly. Kenneth: You’re gonna look me in the eye and tell me that, when I just saw that asshole show up here unannounced? Palling around with my fucking kid as if he’s playing stepdaddy? And yet it’s hysterical of me to think -- Grace, firmly: Kenneth, only one of us ever had extramarital affairs.

Grace drops that factoid without flinching, deathly calm, but it works as intended. It stuns Kenneth enough to shut him up. If he ever deluded himself into thinking that she didn’t know, that his hook-ups while out of town on business were so suave and discrete, he’s sorely mistaken.

But she never held it against him. Never brought it up, or threw it in his face, even in all the moments where she could have had every right. It was too dangerous, for one, but also not worth the fight.

And she doesn’t want to hash it out now, when he’s maybe days away from…

Ultimately, the risky move pays off. Kenneth retreats, temper cooling enough to allow him to regain some of his composure. He nods, slowly edging back towards his hospital bed and easing onto it. Catching his breath -- anger takes it out of him these days in a way it never did before.

Kenneth: You’re… sorry. Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.

Grace does. She’s seen that side of him many times before, more than she count. It’s not a brand new discovery, albeit less rational. If a rage like his ever can be rational…

Kenneth looks in her direction, expression softer than before. Tired, and suddenly, appearing that much gentler. Like a flipped switch. He reaches out a hand towards her, tentative, and after a long moment of reservation, Grace lets him pull her back into his orbit.

She always does.

He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close and resting his head against her torso.

Kenneth: I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I’m sorry. I just… I love you. I don’t want to lose you.

An ending that is now inevitable no matter how the two of them feel about it. Grace places a hand on his head, running her fingers through his hair, but her expression remains blank.

Grace: I know.

INT. YACHT - LOWER DECK - DAY

Unfortunately, Yindra’s string of standout moments only continues that afternoon, and not for the better. They’re back to dance workshop after the brutal physical sessions of the morning, working up a sweat as they perform the routine they learned in small groups of three for the panel. Like an exam of sorts to see how fast they picked it up -- and whether they can carry it at all.

Although Yindra has her training from Adams, it’s her nerves that get in the way. She’s in a group with Tabitha and Sloane, the latter of whom is by far one of the strongest dancers present. So as they step up to do their turn at the run-through, Yindra can’t help but keep glancing her way as they go… which ultimately ends up throwing off her own rhythm. She loses the steps for just a second, and that’s enough to throw her off, sending her knocking into Tabitha before plummeting to the floor in a wipe-out.

Yikes. The rest of the girls gasp, averting their eyes -- though some don’t bother to hide their amusement. Yindra is quick to jump back to her feet, trying not to show her embarrassment, though she is helped by Kimmy rushing over from the sidelines to offer a hand (the only one who does).

Tabitha is already arguing they should be able to start over due to Yindra’s mishap, so in this case, her loud personality does them a favor. Sloane shoots Yindra an irritated look, but doesn’t comment.

Humiliated, Yindra apologizes to the panel then takes her place again to start over. Her hands shake as they wait for the music to restart. Five, six, seven --

INT. HOSPITAL - WAITING AREA - DAY

Jack and Lucas have returned, the latter seemingly having gotten enough space to calm down. He’s back in the same chair as before while Jack paces the floor.

They both straighten up when Grace emerges from the double doors, coming to join them. She isn’t sure what to say, so she asks Lucas if he’s all right. He nods. From there, Jack takes up the slack.

Jack: I am terribly sorry if I made things worse. It never occurred to me that… suffice to say, I wasn’t expecting to cause a scene. I wouldn’t have come if I thought that might happen. I’m sorry, Grace, truly. Grace: Please, no. You didn’t do anything wrong.

And yet… here they all are. Silence hangs heavy over them, a common side effect of being on the other side of one of Kenneth’s outbursts.

Jack: Even so, perhaps it would be best for me to keep my distance. While things are…

While there’s still a chance for things to get volcanic. Yeah, maybe so. Lucas would be disappointed, but at this point, he’s just tired. Tired, and resigned. Why shouldn’t Kenneth take away another thing that’s important to him while he still has the chance? While the power is still in his hands?

Although she’s reluctant, Grace agrees that’s probably the wisest move for everybody. Jack nods, then offers Lucas a comforting pat on the shoulder. He allows it -- it’s going to have to last him a while.

Jack: But please, if there’s anything, anything I can do for either of you, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m just a text or phone call away.

Grace smiles lightly, nodding a thank you. There’s never been anything between her and Jack, and there never will be, but it sure would be nice to find a man with his kindness.

Jack says goodbye and heads out, leaving Grace and Lucas alone again. She eyes him uncertainly, not sure how to move forward from that outburst earlier -- he keeps his eyes on the floor, trying to mentally block out everything from the last hour.

Opting for quiet, Grace simply settles back down in the chair next to him, mirroring his solemnity. The clock ticks on…

INT. MALIBU LAKE HOUSE - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

And becomes a metronome, dutifully ticking back and forth on the coffee table.

The vibes are much more carefree and mellow at the lake house, because the little hit of coke more than did its job. Maya, Melissa, and Justin are enthusiastically discussing the song they just cranked through on their high, declaring it a massive hit before it’s even a fully fleshed out demo.

Melissa settles onto the armchair and plops a bucket of popcorn on the table for them to share, a munchie snack to celebrate their creative victory. First, Justin raises his glass from where he’s reclined on his elbows on the floor, nodding to Maya.

Justin: A toast, to the most badass little money-making honey in this business right now. Melissa: Hear, hear. Maya: Oh, please. You flatter me. [ flipping her hair ] But do say more.

All of them laugh, and Justin continues to sing Maya’s praises. He has plenty to say, mainly about how she somehow has the full package of beauty, brains, and talent, and concludes that all the above is going to make all three of them very, very rich.

Melissa: The whole world is going to know your name, Maya Hart. No doubt about it. Justin: Hear, fucking hear. Maya: Well, good. That’s exactly what I came here for.

Justin whistles, then digs into the popcorn. Maya looks back and forth between the two of them, the buzz from the high making her far more sentimental than normal. She feels way closer to them now than before, with their shared experiences this weekend, and it’s making her weirdly emotional.

In fact, sitting cozy in that studio with the two of them, it almost feels like a memory. Like she’s been here before -- sharing the warm familiarity of fellow creatives who believe she’s got what it takes.

Maya: Can I say something kinda cheesy?

Melissa nods, stating by all means. Justin gestures grandly to her, offering her the floor. The sentiments slip out before Maya can question them, filter not in so-great shape with the coke dust all over it.

Maya: I just want to say like… I’m super grateful to have met you both. That you took a chance on me. [ in a rush ] This whole experience, coming to L.A., has kind of been this whirlwind of hitting walls and slogging through sludge and people not being who you thought they were. And so I’m so like… glad to have your support. And friendship. That you’re in my corner and we’re gonna get this shit done together. That I’m not doing it alone.

Justin pouts, placing his hand on his heart. Melissa aws, reaching out and squeezing Maya’s arm.

Melissa: Girl, you’re adorable. You’re so welcome. Justin: And believe me, babe, we’re grateful for you. Dare I say, we fucking love you.

That’s all Maya wants to hear. She didn’t realize how much she needed it. She grins, laughing in spite of herself, then raises her glass in cheers when Melissa prompts another preemptive toast to their pop successes to come.

INT. MACNAMARA HOME - STUDY - DAY

Even though the problem child is gone -- literally -- it seems the gossip media is continuing to have their field day with the MacNamara story. This is a particularly frustrating development for SYDNEY NGUYEN, who is still tag-teaming with the publicist to battle back click-bait and salacious inquiries left and right. It’s the most overwhelming era she’s ever dealt with in her time as an assistant, and it clearly has her frazzled.

Zachary pops into the study to check on her, bringing a cup of iced tea. She takes it gratefully, immediately taking a sip.

Zachary: I know I can’t say it many more times without it losing meaning, but I truly am sorry. I would never have wished this workload upon you. Sydney: Please. I’m fine. And it’s not like it’s your fault.

Even so. Suffice to say, none of them really expected a welcome to springtime quite like this, did they? Especially given it doesn’t seem likely to ebb any time soon -- least of all while leakers are still on the loose. Sydney sighs.

Sydney: Yeah. I guess I thought it would have died down by now. Zachary: Valerie would’ve never claimed that. She loved the drama, but she had a sixth sense for it, too. She wouldn’t have let us drop our guards. Sydney: Well, she’s not you. [ true enough ] I thought that when Isa left, it would die down. When I told them to go, I -- Zachary: Wait, what?

When she what? Sydney lifts their gaze to look at him, suddenly realizing what she just said. She clears her throat, straightening up.

Sydney: I may have made the suggestion to Isa that it would be wise for them to leave. While all this chaos was going on. Zachary, stunned: … you did what? Sydney: Their presence was creating so much attention. I know how much you dislike that scrutiny. It all started when they showed up, so I just thought -- Zachary: You thought it was a good idea to tell one of my children to leave? To get out of my life? Sydney: They’re not exactly the same. It’s not like Louis, or Milo -- Zachary: That’s damn well not your place to determine. Isa is my family, whether people like it or not. And not ever, ever, would have I agreed that telling them to get out was a good idea!

Zachary has never raised his voice at her like this before. He’s never gotten emotional like this, so she knows she fucked up. Sydney takes the beratement, dipping her head down. She chews the inside of her cheek to keep her cool, blinking back the tears that spring to her eyes.

But Zachary isn’t an anger guy, and the flare up doesn’t last long. It’s not a pleasant experience seeing her get upset either, regardless of how warranted his disappointment might be.

Sydney: I didn’t want you all to keep getting hurt. You’re like -- it’s family to me too.

She wanted to protect him. She thought she was protecting him. Zachary sighs, rubbing his face.

Zachary: I understand where you were coming from. But this is my life. You’re my assistant, not my life coach. These are decisions I have to make for my family. Please do not ever interfere in my personal life like that again.

Sydney nods. After all this, she definitely wasn’t planning on it.

Sydney, soft: I’m sorry. Zachary: I know you are.

In the next moment, Ruby pokes her head in. Her eyes are bright with discovery -- and a hint of urgency.

Ruby: Babe. They found something.

Sydney and Zachary exchange a look, then quickly follow Ruby out of the office.

INT. MACNAMARA HOME - LIVING ROOM - DAY

The three of them rejoin the boys and the PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR they hired, who is running through their findings. Apparently, she’s managed to track down the source of the initial leak.

P.I.: The man in question is a Mister Gregory Schultz. Ruby, pointedly: One of the teachers in Milo’s grade.

Lord knows teachers are severely underpaid and could use a quick buck… not to mention Milo openly said he was telling everyone he knew how excited he was to have a new sibling. Once it’s put out there, the theory makes perfect sense. Zachary curses under his breath, while Sydney shakes her head.

Milo, predictably, is in absolute dismay over this. Tears are streaming down his face.

Milo: It’s my fault! It’s all my fault!

Ruby immediately goes to comfort him, wrapping him in a hug and reassuring him it’s not. Sydney quietly excuses herself, giving the family privacy. The private investigator does offer one silver lining, though -- the call wasn’t coming from inside the house. They can rule out problems within their own unit.

P.I.: So long as you can hold together, in my experience, you’ll be able to weather this until it blows over.

That is, if everyone can come together… Louis drops his head to the floor, sheepish and feeling guilty. Zachary glances at him, but doesn’t comment. Ruby looks to her husband, still hugging her youngest. Now that this mystery is solved…

Ruby: Think it may be time to try reaching out to Isa again?

Zachary contemplates that, holding her gaze.

INT. HOSPITAL - HALLWAY - DAY

After his outburst, a nurse has pulled Lucas and Grace aside in the hall outside Kenneth’s room. She’s taking care to reassure them that this behavior, while jarring, isn’t out of the ordinary with patients who are in deteriorating health. Their emotional and mental faculties aren’t as strong as they once were, and with all the gravity of mortality hanging over them, they may be more prone to outbursts such as what they just witnessed.

Nurse: We know it can be quite alarming to see someone you love behave in a way that is so out of character, so we just wanted to provide you that assurance. It’s entirely normal for mood to fluctuate this way.

Lucas and Grace nod along, keeping their expressions neutral. But on the contrary, they’re not strangers to how violently Kenneth’s mood can change -- the cancer has nothing to do with that.

INT. YACHT - PRIVACY BOOTH - DAY

Yindra has taken refuge in the privacy booth on their break, stealing a slot of time to use the phone and call for back-up. It seems she’s chosen Nigel as the receptacle for dumping her trauma, regaling him with all of the oddities of the trip thus far before spiraling into recounting how she shot her mouth off during the morning session before completely wiping out during dance.

Nigel: I mean, I don’t blame you. That session sounds insane. I would’ve said something too. Yindra: Bitch. No you would not have.  Nigel: You’re right, I wouldn’t have. But I’m chronically and certifiably a wimp. Zay would’ve. Maya would’ve. Those in your rank would’ve asserted themselves too. Yindra: Not when the stakes are this high. Nigel: You’ve only been gone a few weeks. You can’t have already forgotten how sassy Zay is. Besides, maybe that’ll reflect well on you. Yindra: How? Nigel: Shows your personality. That you don’t take shit. That you have integrity. Yindra: All qualities in such high demand out here. I don’t think they want to work with a back-talker. And how does that save my ass from flopping during dance? Nigel: Everyone makes mistakes. Even the best. Yindra: Of which I am not! Nigel: Girl, you gotta chill. What do you want from me? Yindra, desperate: HELP ME!

Nigel raises his hand in surrender. He reminds her to take a deep breath, as that is the first step to stop her from going full panic mode.

Nigel: You are already more than halfway through this thing. You’ve made mistakes, but I bet you’ve made good impressions, too. Everyone there is no better than you. You’re all just giving this your best shot. Yindra: Uh-huh. Nigel: You know you have people in your corner that believe in you -- including the manager who got you there in the first place. This is not the end all be all. And besides, you remember why you’re there, right? Yindra: An exercise in psychological torture? Nigel: To sing. You haven’t done the solo vocal part yet, right? Let’s be honest, that’s all that matters. You can dance, and you’re pretty as they come, but no one can sing like you. That’s what you were made for. Just give yourself the chance to show them that, and they’ll see.

Everything else is just a footnote. Yindra nods, taking a deep breath and letting Nigel’s soft pep talk work its magic. She nods along and then thanks him.

Yindra: And sorry I yelled at you from a yacht in the middle of the Pacific three-thousand miles away. Nigel: All good. I figure that’s probably just the rest of our lives at this point.

In any case, she just has to get through a couple more days. She can do it. And if she ends up on the ledge -- or suppose in this case, the yacht rail -- again, they’re all only a phone call away.

With that, there’s nothing more to say but good luck.

Nigel: Just keep your head held high. You know we’re all rooting for you.

That she does. Whatever happens, she’s lucky to have a family of sorts in her corner -- regardless of how quirky and dysfunctional it may be at times. She inhales a deep breath, nodding.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

The same conceit carries over to Zay’s conversation with Riley, who he’s catching up with briefly on the phone. She’s given him the update on everything going on with Lucas, which is a lot to juggle on top of her show commitments.

Even so, she wanted to make sure she had the chance to wish him the best of luck before his audition. Zay thanks her.

Zay: And look… I mean, if there’s anything I can do. You know, for Lucas -- for y’all. Just hit me up.

He may have his moments, and Lucas isn’t his favorite person, but same metric applies. They’re family, in some weird, convoluted way.

Once they hang up, OMAR BABINEAUX enters the kitchen to start cooking dinner. He admits he’s surprised to even see Zay hanging around -- he figured with the audition right around the corner, he’d be off getting every second of practice in he could.

Zay: Well, I’m trying to not run myself into the ground this time. So I’m making a concerted effort not to throw myself into chaos right before the big day. Omar: Wow. How mature of you. Look at that, I guess you just might be growing up after all.

Ha ha ha. Zay rolls his eyes. In all seriousness, though, Omar in his understated, quiet way, takes the opportunity to ask Zay how he’s feeling about the whole thing. Does he feel ready for it?

Zay: To be honest, I think I’m numb at this point. I don’t really feel much of anything. Which I guess is better than abject terror, so I’ll take it. Omar: I know how hard you’ve worked for this. All the effort you’ve put in this semester. [ a beat ] I just hope you recognize that regardless of what happens, your mom and I are damn proud of you. You know that? Whether you’re dancing at that school or on Broadway or even just in our garage, that doesn’t matter to me. You’ve made me proud a thousand times over.

Zay did know that. He’s fortunate enough to have never had to doubt that, to have always had two parents committed to his success and there to prop him up no matter what ambition he was chasing that day or what secrets he was not-so-skillfully hiding from them. He knows, all too well, just how lucky he is.

Still, it’s nice to hear it. He smiles lightly.

Zay: Yeah. Thanks, dad.

Omar mirrors the smile, reaching over and giving him a pat on the shoulder.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - VANESSA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Vanessa doesn’t have nearly the same support at home… but that doesn’t mean she’s entirely on her own. She comes back into her room from the shower, comfortable robe on, only to discover she’s received a couple of texts in her absence.

One from Nigel, the other from Riley. Both of them extending good luck wishes for tomorrow, even though there’s zero likelihood they aren’t rooting for Zay to get a spot. Offering good vibes and reassurances, even though there’s absolutely no reason for them to do so. They gain nothing from the kindness. They’re hardly friends without Zay as the buffer between them.

Or maybe not. Maybe she did leave enough of an impression on her own to win their affections. Maybe there is more to their budding friendships than just being the girlfriend.

No way to know for sure, unless and until that label changes, and that possibility seems more and more prevalent these days. But the messages make Vanessa grow warm in spite of the skepticism.

INT. YACHT - YINDRA’S ROOM - DAY

Already exhausted with the day even with Nigel’s pep talk, Yindra is more than ready to crash the moment she steps inside her room.

She doesn’t get that luxury. Instead, she finds Heather curled up on the floor against the base of her bed, hyperventilating. In fact, barely that -- at first glance, it sounds like she’s choking, like she isn’t breathing at all.

Yindra: Oh my God. Heather?

Yindra drops down to her knees in front of her roommate, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Heather is almost unresponsive at first, simply shaking her head and keeping her arms locked tight around her knees. Yindra tries to get her to speak, to tell her what’s going on, but it’s like the power of speech has left her.

Until it hasn’t. Suddenly, Heather snaps and ducks her head into her knees, letting out a strangled scream. Yindra jumps, startled, backing off a bit.

Heather: I can’t do it. I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t -- Yindra: Yes, you can. Heather, you’ve done great so far -- Heather: No! No! I can’t! I can’t!

Yindra is at a total loss for what to do. She tells Heather she’s going to get help, leaving her with her head tucked into her knees.

This isn’t just audition stress. This is something different -- like a full-on nervous breakdown.

INT. HOSPITAL - INNER HALLWAY - NIGHT

Grace and Lucas are both hanging just outside Kenneth’s room, debating whether or not to go in and say goodnight. He seems to have calmed somewhat throughout the early evening, and he seemed downright exhausted, so it might just be disturbing him. The nurses are in there with him now, so supposedly, they’ll give them the best opinion.

Any illusions of Kenneth being peacefully at rest are thrown out the window a second later, when there’s a loud clatter from the other side of the door.

Kenneth: Ow! Jesus, what kind of nurse are you? You call that nursing?

Uh-oh. Grace and Lucas exchange a wide-eyed look.

INT. HOSPITAL - KENNETH’S ROOM - NIGHT

They dash into the room moments later, in time to bear witness to Kenneth throwing a full-on, adult temper tantrum. It’s kind of impressive he even has the energy for it, given his decline, but it seems the exhaustion and anger at the situation have coalesced into the perfect irritant cocktail. He doesn’t have the bandwidth to even pretend to be charming anymore, verbally sparring with the nurses and patience level basically below zero.

The nurse he first yelled at picks up the materials they dropped and flees the room in an instant, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy. The other, more experienced nurse hangs around and tries to calm him, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much good. He is in hysterics now, and it’s manifesting as aggression.

Lucas can only stare, stunned to see his father acting this way in public, but Grace isn’t fazed. She does what the nurse can’t, brave enough to step into the fray and encourage Kenneth to calm down. He’s just as volatile with her, but she’s a veteran at this point.

The nurse claims she’s going to request sedation to calm him, stepping out of the room. Lucas watches them go, not thrilled with the idea of being left alone without supervision -- not that that seems to make any difference anymore.

Grace remains solely focused on Kenneth. Trying to keep him from doing any additional damage, to himself or anything else. She reaches out to hold him steady and he slaps her hand away without a second thought, but she isn’t deterred. Even as he wriggles away, she locks her arms around his shoulders and holds him in a tight embrace.

Grace: Kenneth. Stop. Stop fighting. Please.

For some bizarre reason -- when it’s sure never made a difference before -- her words work. It’s like all the fire just zaps out of him, leaving nothing but the pure debilitation of his failing body in its place.

Then, Kenneth starts to sob. Wretched, full-body sobs, the last expression of despair from a dying man who doesn’t have the fight in him anymore. The fight that kept him going, that kept him in control, for as long as he can remember.

Kenneth: I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. Grace: Shh. I know. I know. Kenneth: I don’t -- [ in agony ] I’m not ready to die.

Lucas is frozen in place, unable to look away. Unable to process that his father, the six-foot brute who always commanded a room and never, ever showed weakness, has been reduced to this. Crying in the arms of the woman he claimed he loved but was incapable of loving right, letting her carry his emotional baggage right up to the end.

It doesn’t feel real. This isn’t real. Dissociative and numb, Lucas forces himself to look away and exits the room, desperate to be anywhere but here.

Grace continues to comfort Kenneth, gently shushing him and rocking them lightly as Riley’s fragile vocals float in…

INT. NYU - THEATER - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “With You” as performed by Ghost: The Musical Original Cast Recording || Performed by Riley Matthews

Riley is in the midst of another performance, just getting into one of her first big emotional ballads of the night. And it’s in that light, from that perspective, that her casting in the leading role suddenly makes perfect sense. She’s talented regardless, but it’s the relentlessly evocative ability to emote through song that equipped Riley for this role.

She finishes the first verse and chorus under the spotlights of the NYU stage, eyes shimmering, then as the piano line descends --

INT. IMAGINATION SPACE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

We’re back in that pseudo-Adams stage, only this time it’s Riley front and center. The rest of the ensemble are still on their acting blocks, but they stay cast in shadow -- no harmonizing this time around. Riley’s block is obviously empty, but the front and center one next to hers also continues to remain unoccupied. Her new signature look is a flowy high-low but simple dress, over which she’s wearing an oversized (and perhaps vaguely familiar) black flannel shirt.

The performance continues intercut between the two stages, her vocals building in intensity as she rails into the bridge. And when she dives in, damn, does she deliver. If anyone had any doubts about her earning the role, hopefully this performance will prove them wrong.

Riley is even more compelling in the faux stage than the real one, because there’s no acting going on here. The performances in this space are raw, unfiltered, and Riley adheres to that challenge without question. It’s remarkable, given there’s not necessarily any real lived experience she’s pulling from to channel it. She’s never lost a loved one to a botched robbery -- she’s never yet had to fathom losing someone to the point of no return.

But maybe it doesn’t take living it to express it. Perhaps, the sheer fear of it is enough.

I can't comprehend this and pretend that I don't care Any place I wanna be I wanna see you there

When she finishes the last note of the bridge, the screen temporarily goes dark, allowing her wish to echo in the emptiness.

INT. NYU - THEATER - NIGHT

When the lights come back up, it’s with NYU Riley first, delivering the first of the last two lines in the song with teary eyes and delicate vibrato.

INT. IMAGINATION SPACE - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

And the same when Riley lets out the final line on the other stage, voice a breath away from cracking. Behind her, that front and center acting block remains hauntingly vacant.

You took my world with you…

INT. HOSPITAL - KENNETH’S ROOM - NIGHT

As the piano notes gently conclude the performance, we’re back with Grace. Eyes glossy with unshed tears of her own, still holding Kenneth close as he tires himself out.

INT. HOSPITAL - INNER HALLWAY - NIGHT

Lucas is wandering aimlessly, frantically moving through the hospital with no set destination. He just knows he has to get away. Far, far away.

He’s not having an easy time of it, though. He’s perpetually in the way, trying to duck away from doctors and nurses who aren’t paying him any attention, and he feels a little unsteady on his feet. His chest hurts, that same way as before, the last time he ended up in a hospital against his wishes.

He’s gonna be sick. Oh, he’s gonna be sick. He stumbles through another set of double doors --

INT. HOSPITAL - HALLWAY - NIGHT

And somehow makes it out into the halls of the greater hospital, which in theory would somehow lead back to the waiting area if he had any idea where he was. In this case, he gets lucky, because he unsteadily marches through a corridor just as Asher arrives at the other end, arriving for his turn at keeping him company.

Asher: Lucas?

Lucas doesn’t answer him. He keeps walking, going nowhere, but his legs aren’t working right. They betray him, going weak and making his head spin. He stumbles and hits the wall.

Asher is on the move in an instant. He sprints down the hall the rest of the way to catch up to him, sliding to a stop at his side and grabbing his arm to hold him steady.

Asher: Hey. Hey, hey, hey. What’s -- ? Lucas: I -- I can’t --

Lucas shakes his head, still losing grip. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

His limbs give way and he slips down along the wall, collapsing into a sitting position. Asher drops down with him without a second thought, gripping his knees and trying to ground him. Trying to get him to talk to him. But Lucas doesn’t have words right now -- he barely has air. He’s hyperventilating, unable to catch his breath.

Panic attack. Major panic attack. Asher knows it all too well.

Asher: Lucas. Lucas, look at me. It’s okay. You’re okay. Lucas --

Asher reaches up and takes Lucas’s face in his hands, lifting his head so he’ll look at him. He does, still panting, green eyes wide.

Asher: Look at me, okay? We’re gonna breathe. Lucas: I can’t -- Asher: Yes, you can. Breathe with me, okay? Nice and slow. Breathe in…

Asher demonstrates, Lucas shakily following his lead. He has him breathe in, then hold it, holding up one of his hands to countdown the seconds with his fingers. Then they exhale, fragile as Lucas’s might be.

Asher: Good. Again. Okay? In…

This time, Lucas does it alone, but Asher nods along, counting out loud this time. Then out. One, two, three, in… one, two, three, out…

The two of them stay like that, counting their breaths, Asher right by his side. Not going anywhere. As long as it takes.

One, two, three, in…

END OF PART 1.

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[wonderingnorthwards]

7/4/13 - Rakaia glow

Clearly getting tired as the energy left at the end of the day for these write ups in diminishing but let’s give this another go. Waking up in my tent from a night of rain and wind, just over the saddle, I knew I had a big day ahead of me before hitting the road to hitch into Methven to finish a 6 day, two section, 150km combined excursion. Climbing down from the saddle through the valley was a similar story to that a couple days ago on the Two thumb track, cris-crossing the river down. This time the water was ice cold, and I had to get the feet wet 55 times. Yes I counted. Special mentions out to #44 the Lewis Hamilton speed trail down the river and #13 the unlucky for some slip up. Making it to Comys hut with bricks for feet, a hearty lunch of wrap, cheese, all the salami I had left and a generous serving of aioli as i let my socks dry briefly providing enough energy for the next 10* kms of trail. The first 5 proving comparatively ordinary, however still outstanding I was treated to what ill call the best Nobo highlight of the walk so far, hiking up over the 1,200m Turtons saddle, somewhat unexpectedly given I was rushing to the road, put quite simply as The Best view. The magnificent Rakaia river and surrounding valleys commanded my attention. I wish I could share pictures of its beauty, but after 6 days bush my phone had died, so this one will live on in my memory alone. A moment I’ll cherish and reminds me of how lucky I am to live and walk such a beautiful country. The view blessed me the whole way down for the next hour and a half as I raced to the road to try get the 4:30pm Friday rush hour to the pub in Methven for my next resupply. Turns out the road was as dead as they come. Figuring my luck wouldn’t improve any by staying still, I started walking in the right direction, hoping I would cross more farms and improve my chances as I dreamt of a pub meal and a cold handle of Speights. A dreamy sunset over the river and mountains with all colours from golden hour up in the ranges melting into cotton candy mountains in the distance. Not single car for 2.5 hours drove those spirits well down, with next to no food left, I was 5 minutes away from setting camp on the side of the road and getting the last of my coscos on the boil when, like I always tell myself; things worked out for me. Some hunters returning from a day up in the valleys pulled up on their way back to Chch. Making it to the aptly named brown pub, not to be confused with the neighbouring blue pub about 7:30 I did in fact get my loaded chicken schnitzel and fries, cold handle of speights and a room for the night in what felt like some old school western, staying at the town tavern as I passed through. This town felt about the right size for all of us truth me told.

Wrap up

Journey: Clent Hills Sadle - Methven

Kms: 21.8 offical TA + 13kms road. Apple: 32.5kms

River crossings: 55

Offical KM: 750.4

[krattsgonewild]

Classy and Memorable Bucks Party Ideas in Sydney for a Day to Remember

Sydney’s blend of natural beauty and vibrant nightlife offers endless options for planning the perfect bucks celebration. Bucks party ideas in Sydney range from exclusive wine tastings to action-packed adventure sports, ensuring there’s an option for every groom and his friends. Creating a personalized experience is easy with Sydney’s extensive range of unique venues and services, giving your group the freedom to celebrate the way they want. For a refined celebration, consider one of the more upscale bucks party ideas in Sydney: a private wine-tasting tour. The Hunter Valley, just a short drive from the city, is a renowned wine region where you can sample world-class wines and gourmet food. Many tour companies offer custom packages, including luxury transportation and private tastings at select vineyards. Pair this experience with a fine dining meal, and your group will have a sophisticated celebration that leaves everyone feeling pampered.

Rugby Game Bucks Party Ideas in Sydney

If the groom is a sports enthusiast, attending a live rugby game is one of the best bucks party ideas in Sydney. Whether it’s a local match or an international game, the energy of the crowd combined with live action on the field creates an unforgettable experience. Afterward, head to a nearby pub for drinks and share your thoughts on the game with your friends. A day of rugby is a fun and competitive way to celebrate the groom’s last hurrah.

VIP Private Club Bucks Party Ideas in Sydney

For those seeking the ultimate in luxury and exclusivity, booking a VIP experience at one of Sydney’s high-end clubs is a top-tier option. Many clubs offer private rooms or VIP areas with bottle service, reserved seating, and access to some of the city’s best nightlife. It’s a fantastic way to enjoy the city’s glamorous party scene while ensuring the groom has a VIP experience. If you want your bucks party in Sydney to feel special and exclusive, this is the way to go.

Beach Party Bucks Party Ideas in Sydney

Sydney’s beaches are the perfect backdrop for a fun and laid-back bucks party. Head to iconic beaches like Bondi or Manly for a beach party filled with drinks, games, and plenty of sun. You can rent private beachside areas for a more exclusive experience, or simply set up with your mates and enjoy the sand and surf. Whether you plan to barbecue, play beach volleyball, or relax with some cold drinks, a beach party is one of the most fun and casual bucks party ideas in Sydney.

Sports Bar Bucks Party Ideas in Sydney

For a relaxed yet exciting bucks party, a visit to one of Sydney’s best sports bars could be the perfect solution. Whether you’re watching the big game, playing pool, or enjoying a round of drinks, a sports bar atmosphere will add a fun, competitive edge to your celebration. Many sports bars in Sydney offer large screens, great food, and an electric atmosphere. This is an easygoing yet thrilling way to spend time with your mates before the big wedding day.

Comedy Night Bucks Party Ideas in Sydney

If your group enjoys a good laugh, consider spending the evening at one of Sydney’s popular comedy clubs. Comedy nights are a great option for bucks party ideas in Sydney, offering the chance to relax, have a few laughs, and enjoy some drinks. Many comedy venues have live performances from both emerging and established comedians, ensuring plenty of laughs throughout the night. With a mix of humor, drinks, and a relaxed atmosphere, this is a memorable and entertaining way to celebrate.

Laser Tag Bucks Party Ideas in Sydney

For an action-packed bucks party, laser tag is a great way to get the competitive juices flowing. Split into teams, grab your laser blasters, and battle it out in one of Sydney’s top laser tag arenas. This fast-paced and thrilling activity is a fun way to bond with your mates while enjoying some friendly competition. Whether you're in an urban venue or an outdoor arena, laser tag adds excitement and teamwork to your bucks party ideas in Sydney.

Paintball Bucks Party Ideas in Sydney

If you’re looking for a bucks party idea in Sydney that’s full of adrenaline and excitement, paintball is a thrilling option. Get suited up in camouflage gear, divide into teams, and strategize your way to victory in the paintball arena. With realistic settings and fast-paced action, paintball is a great way to get the group active and involved in some friendly competition. It’s a fantastic choice for those who love adventure and excitement, ensuring plenty of fun moments throughout the day.

Conclusion

Sydney is filled with fantastic bucks party ideas that promise to make the groom’s celebration one to remember. Whether you opt for heart-pumping activities like paintball and laser tag, a night of laughter at a comedy club, or a luxurious private event, the city has everything you need to make this occasion special. With its stunning scenery, incredible venues, and vibrant nightlife, Sydney offers endless possibilities to create the ultimate bucks party experience. Whatever the groom enjoys, Sydney has the perfect combination to make his last adventure truly unforgettable.

[3llatricks]

Random things you don't need to know about me!

Eye color: hazel (green/brown) (it changes between brown and green sometimes)

Hair color: Yes. (has all shades but tends to go more towards brown and red)

Favorite color: Teal/turquoise

Pronouns: She/Her

Favorite fruit: Peach

Favorite melon: Cantaloupe

Favorite vegetable: Carrots

Favorite dog breed: Mastiffs

Favorite cat breed: all of them.

Favorite fish: Beta

Hobbies: Drawing, singing, mathematics, writing, cooking, reading

Strengths: Planning strategically

Weaknesses: Any and all things physical.

Favorite scent: Morning dew

Beach or Mountains: both. Mountain beach.

Season: Fall

Hot or cold: Cold

Favorite school subject: Science

Favorite video game: Minecraft, Stardew Valley or FNAF (followed closely by Destiny and Grounded)

Favorite animated movie: Tangled

Favorite live action movie: 50 First Dates

Favorite T.V. series: Miraculous tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir

Favorite book series: Born at Midnight series by C.C. Hunter

Day or Night: Night, all the way

Favorite meal: Lasagna

Favorite room in the house: Kitchen

Favorite YouTuber: TommyInnit

Zodiac sign: Taurus

Hogwarts house: Slytherin

Fav animal: Fox

Fav mystical creature: Dragon

Sexuality: Bi

Feel free to add your list of random stuff!!