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nsharks · 22 days ago

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-five —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.8k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. menstruation. harm to a child. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Jagged rock burns into your palms. Slapping a hand up, you feel for the grassy ledge, barely visible in the darkness. You heft the backpack over it before managing to pull yourself up, landing on your stomach with a grunt through your teeth. The sneakers you scavenged from the closet are tight around your toes—better than Salome's thin shoes, but still far from pleasing as you stand and press on towards the road.

Moonlight guides you north.

Not long until sunrise, judging by the sky.

Small white clouds puff around your mouth as the chilled air brushes the damp spot on your too-big jeans, the cuffs rolled and the waist cinched to keep them from slipping. You couldn't leave in the middle of the night, so you held a mug of water as a makeshift alarm. The moment sleep tried to steal you, the splash on your thigh ended it abruptly.

You'd woken Blue up to tell her. At first, grey eyes scolded you in the dark. She looked away, ready to argue, before quietly reciting instead: the house they kept her in, the layout, any hiding places she may have seen.

"What about her?" you had asked. "Anything important to her. She probably saw antibiotics as a gift from God or something."

"Yeah. She would've," Blue muttered. "She liked to knit. And, um, talked about birds. Her husband owned the whole place, but he died. I don't know if any of that helps."

"It does. It's better than nothing." You gave her hand a squeeze. "Make sure he eats again. And check his back. You might need to drain it. You know how now, right? Nereida could—"

"I've got it." She slipped her hand away. "Just—don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Of course not."

Sneaking out had been easy—only because Nereida was on watch. You slipped out the back and wove through the tall grass, barely stirring the stalks. Price would've caught you for sure. But you made it across the creek with nothing more than the slow unrolling of your jeans to slow you down, the cuffs dragging in the water and soaking through. You rolled them back up, but a kilometer up the road, they've slouched back down, heavy and clinging to your legs.

Time is an enemy you've already lost a day to. With a sigh, you drop onto the hood of a rusted car, pull the knife from your waist, and hack at the fabric’s ends. A serrated blade would make this easier. The hems are jagged, but at least they won’t get in the way.

Ghost’s fever is bad, but the real threat is sepsis—the blood poisoning, organ failure, the things you haven’t told Blue. At best, he has a week. At worst, another day. The thought has you scrubbing a hand over your tired eyes before pushing off the car. You toss the cut scraps into the grass just as a disturbance prickles the back of your neck.

You whirl around, dropping the knife in favor of the pistol.

"Just me."

"Jesus. Kyle. I was ready to shoot."

"Honorable of you to give me a quick one."

You huff, bend for the knife, and slip it back at your waist.

He closes the gap, rifle and backpack slung over his shoulders.

"Why wouldn't you tell anyone?" His brows lower. "I went to feed him, and Blue said you’d gone back. Hell of a surprise."

You give him your back. "I've already wasted time. I knew what you'd say."

"And what exactly did you think I'd say?" A hand on your shoulders pries you back around.

Your eyes drift up to his, narrow, then veer to the side. "That it's a long shot."

"Yeah, it is." His hand drops. He brushes past you with a sigh, long and ragged, adjusting the rifle on his back. "Come on, then. You're not the only one who gives a shit about him."

There isn't anything to be said as you trudge beside him, no argument able to form. You know his company is invaluable. Gratitude is still hard to find, even when he prevents you from going the wrong way. "We turned here last time." Apparently you hadn't paid much mind. The road fills the gaps of silence, dawn breathing life into the buzz of cicadas. Long drags of air fill your lungs: sweet flowers only, until, something else. A waft of charred meat.

"You should eat."

Kyle extends a piece of squirrel. Despite the twinge in your stomach, you brush him off. "While they were starving you, we were getting stuffed. Fatten the mares, get a strong foal—all that."

His jaw ticks. "Ah."

"Damn good food, too."

"Lucky you."

"Lucky us."

Conversation shrinks to a brief exchange of what Blue said. He doesn't look convinced it'll help much. The stench doesn’t sour the air until the first sign for Fleurbaix rises at your right—like a breath in your face. Humidity clings to it, thick and unmoving, until there’s nothing else to breathe. In the sunlight, familiar stone walls and red-shingled rooftops repulse you, almost more than the sight of aimless Greys—some weaving between clotheslines, most trapped within the fenced pasture. The cows, however, have already fled through a broken gap, eager to escape uphill.

"They should've lost interest by now. The blood isn't fresh," you mutter.

"Humidity. Less evaporation, more smell." He nods the tip of his rifle. "Over there. That one has a wraparound porch like Blue said."

The view vanishes behind overgrown trees as you crest a hill, descending toward the commune. Kyle motions you forward, weaving through structures, keeping clear of the Greys. As long as they can’t scent you, they will stay distracted. You step over a few stray bodies, faces picked apart by crows that scatter at your approach. Clinging to a stone wall as you follow, a bony hand bursts forth from a window—Kyle knifes its skull before it can grab you.

Other than that, there aren't any close calls.

You reach the house that fits Blue's description.

The door is wide open.

Kyle sweeps in with the poised rifle.

You are greeted by an already ransacked interior. Tipped chairs, half-yanked cabinets, tossed couch cushions. A sick understanding settles at your fingertips, curling them around the gun.

"They were here. The women. They knew she would've hidden them."

More signs that this is just a dead end; a waste of precious time.

Kyle lowers the guns and presses forward into the hall. "That doesn't mean they found what they were looking for. Check the rooms."

Maman's house is as expected, even in disarray. Quiet and balmy. You kick open the first door. Polished wood, gold-embellished hinges, a closet stuffed with white gowns. A knitting bag catches your eye. You sift through it, tossing out balls of red yarn. Nothing.

More nothing under the bed.

You tear the painting from the wall, only solid stone behind it.

A family photo thrashes to the floor beneath a swipe of your fist. You find Kyle in the other room, where a smaller bed is tucked beneath a window—the sight makes it hard to breathe for a moment. The blood stain on the sheets. Somehow you know whose it is. Your stomach rips at itself. You force yourself to look away before you lose it.

"The floorboards. They didn't look under them. Help me."

He raps the butt of the rifle against the wood. A hollow echo near the doorway offers promise. A knife jammed between the planks pries them apart. When you sink to your knees, all that fills your hands are stashes of faded euros. No pills, no vials.

You rip up the notes and let the shreds feather through the air, leaning back on your palms as a quiet hiss leaves your teeth. "Where did you put them you vile, ugly, goddamn hag."

"Maybe her son kept them," Kyle murmurs, threading a hand through his hair. "He had the guns."

"No." Your voice is firm. You stand and pace. "She would've wanted them close to her. Antibiotics—she was saving that for the women. The births."

You reach for your knife and stab the mattress, slicing it open. Springs and foam. Books maybe. You run back to the shelf in the hall and rip them one at a time, flipping them open to see if any were hollowed out. Even the Bible is just a book.

What else?

"How much time are we willing to spend looking for them, Twix?" he asks lowly behind you. "Maybe we check somewhere else. A town."

"They'd have picked them clean years ago." You toss the Bible to the floor with a thud. "This was our best bet. We had them. We fucking had them."

"And now we don’t. We can’t keep tearing this place apart. We focus on keeping him stable—keep the wounds clean, use what we’ve got. He’s made it this far without them. We just need to buy him more time. There might be another stash in one of the other houses."

You lean against the wall, eyes fluttering shut briefly. A deep inhale. "There's just—something I'm missing."

"Twix—" He sighs, running a hand down his face. "Alright. Let's do another sweep. I'll check the floors in the living room."

Thoughts race. A frothy tide refusing to settle. You press your thumb to the scabbed cut on your wrist, the sting sharpening your mind. Back in the cell. Morning sun slanting through the window. Obsessively studying what’s around you. Replaying everything you learned about that woman. A dead woman. If you could’ve told the Greys to hold off, let her speak before they tore through her neck, you would have.

In the midst, a dove’s call breaks through—three notes, too close in your ear. You must be imagining it, but Alexandre’s voice stirs in your head: La tourterelle chante pour toi.

He said that when he heard the dove.

Why?

Birds.

She talked about birds.

You push off the wall and follow the sound to the room where they kept Blue. The coo draws you to the windowsill by the bed, where the glass is cracked just enough for the curtains to stir, the stench outside seeping in. Twin beady eyes snap to yours, a mechanical tilt of its neck. A collared dove, you think. Paul used to rise early to listen to them.

"Where are they?" you press lowly, accusing. "You know, don't you?"

The bird doesn’t answer, only flutters down from the sill.

Your fingers grip the edge of the window as you kneel on the ruined mattress. Below, the bird perches in the flower box—no flowers, just dried weeds and a nest of twigs.

"Tell me." It watches the whisper curl from your lips. "Tell me, or I’ll rip apart your home."

It flutters off. Your arm lunges after it, clawing at the nest in blind retaliation. Twigs snap. Dirt kicks up into your eyes. You blink hard to clear it. A strangled sound catches in your throat—half a curse, half a cry. Then, something strange beneath. Sharp rust that makes you freeze.

You sweep debris off the top of a—a lock box—loosely buried within the soil. A breath lodges in your throat as you claw at the dirt, dragging the rusted metal loose, launching backward on the bed with it clutched in both hands. It can't be real. You give the box a sharp shake. Something rattles inside, and your chest tightens.

"Kyle!"

Thunderous slaps of his boots echo down the hall. He rushes in, scanning you with a sweep of his gaze.

"No, I'm—this is locked." You tug at the bolted metal. "Can you open it?"

He doesn't question it. Relief flickers across his face, quickly replaced by grim determination. He raises the rifle and slams the butt against the lock. A sharp clang echoes, metal chipping but holding. Exhaling through his nose, he adjusts his grip. You meet his eyes and nod—keep going.

He hammers at the lock, pausing only to yank at it, testing for weakness. You wipe dirt from your jeans, watching. Whatever she buried here—it mattered. It had to. A dove lands on the windowsill, but movement beyond it sends your pulse spiking above the sharp cut of metal.

Greys.

When did they—

"Shit, shit, shit." You lurch from the bed.

He stops, yanking up the rifle to jut it toward the window, shooting a snarling one that clambers up on the porch. It flails back, revealing more alike behind it—many more—shambling out from wherever they'd been lingering. "Fuck—how!" He tucks the lock box under his armpit and grabs your wrist. "Come on."

The living room windows reveal just how many have begun to close in around the house. Faster ones are already at the front door, clawing at the wood. Kyle swears, yanking you toward the bathroom—higher ground, a window above the porcelain tub. He slams it open with the rifle, then hands instantly find your waist to lift you. You shed the backpack, pulling it through behind your feet to squeeze through blindly.

"Anything to climb?" he barks.

You look up. "A gutter!"

You grab it and tighten your core, hoisting yourself up as your sneakers scrape against the siding, the moans below growing louder as they round the corner of the porch. Your palms press into exposed rafters, the gutter serving as a shaky foothold, but the last push onto the roof eludes you.

A firm shove at your thighs sends you over. You scramble up, steadying yourself before glancing back.

Kyle is halfway up, rappelling fast—until a bony hand clamps around his ankle, yanking him downward. Disoriented from the rush, you slap for the gun at your waist, firing wildly—two bullets wasted before one lands, shattering the Grey's skull with a squeal.

He throws the lockbox. You catch it just as he hauls himself onto the shingles.

Your head reels as you watch Kyle drop to one knee and start picking them off. Four, maybe five drop with ease, but the rest move erratically—jolting, frantic. He slows, trying to track their unpredictable movements, each shot requiring more precision. If you had your bow, you could help. But the pistol? You don't trust yourself.

He grunts in frustration, adjusts his stance, then reloads as he circles the perimeter of the roof. That’s when you feel it—not a hunger pang, but a deep, familiar ache, piercing low in your gut. Then something wet. Warm. A slow gush down your leg. Your breath stutters as you glance down at the stain blooming red across your thigh.

"It's me," you say.

"What?"

"Fuck, it's me they smell. My period."

His gaze drops to your body, widening when he sees the evidence. You should feel exposed, but you don’t. The thought slams into your brain at the same time your hands move—unbuttoning, yanking at the fly. The moans below swell.

"We can use it. Look away."

His eyes snap back to yours, then dart away with a sharp exhale. "Christ."

You’re already shoving them down, tugging at the loose, borrowed underwear clinging to your hips. Gathering the fabric, you swipe at the blood slick on your thigh, pressing it deeper into the fabric. "It can buy us time—but not much."

You yank the jeans back up. You roll the underwear into a ball. Kyle looks over.

"There—throw it toward that house. The door’s open. If enough go inside, it might trap some. Then we run back to the hill."

Just as quickly as the plan is formed, you hurl back your arm and launch the decoy as hard as you can. It lands in front of the next house, far enough to release the breath caged in your lungs as heads snap toward it, bodies lurching away. Kyle slings the rifle over his shoulder, grips your waist, and helps you down—but the moment he lets go to steady himself, your foot slips on the gutter.

You land roughly on your side and lose hold of the lockbox. All of the breath leaves your body as you scramble to grab it. A strong hand beneath your armpit tugs you back up, and then you're sprinting. A quick glance back shows most are drawn away, but a few still trail you. Kyle snatches the handgun from your waist mid-stride and fires, dropping two before they get too close.

You duck beneath clotheslines, weave through wash bins still brimming with water. Trample roses. The pulse pounding in your neck drowns out everything but the next shot Kyle fires—enough to throw off your step. You don’t see the one lunging until it slams into you from the side.

You feel the jolt of the fall before you fully register the thing wrestling on top of you. Hair whips into your mouth, rancid breath spilling hot across your cheek. The strength is wrong—too fresh, too human. The hands grabbing at you are still strangely soft. A distinct bulge presses you down. Then a glob of dark-tinged saliva splats onto your eye, blinding you before you can make sense of it.

It's only a second of fight before a shot to the skull sends pulpy blood and brain onto your face.

The weight is torn away as you scrub at your eyes. Part of you already knows before you look at the limp corpse. Time congeals. Blonde hair fans over the grass, framing a pale face with white eyes. The slip dress—the same one you pulled over her head.

Her swollen belly.

You go rigid. Kyle has to yank hard to get you upright.

"Come on!"

"They left her."

The words spill numbly from your lips.

When he shoots another Grey, your wooden, puppet legs move. You leave the body of her behind, adrenaline numbing you. After what is realistically only minutes but feels like hours, the thick trees envelop you once again, and when you finally steal a glance, you can't see them anymore. They've lost your scent for now. Enough for you to pause against a tree, swallowing air to catch your breath.

You walk deeper into the vegetation until Kyle feels satisfied enough to stop and retrieve a canister of water from his backpack. He offers it to you. It takes a moment to steady it at your lips, then your throat allows some down. But your stomach spasms almost instantly, and you are wrenching it back up at the base of a tree, crumpling to your knees.

"Shit."

Hands collect your hair.

A few more dry heaves consume you, until you're breathing harshly through a hanging mouth.

"No… They didn’t—" A hard swallow. "They let her out. She was in the cell."

"What?" His voice brushes your neck, touch halting at your shoulders. Realization softens his tone. "You knew her—the pregnant one."

You wipe your mouth and stand. His hands stay at your arms a beat too long, grip firm, like he’s waiting for something—an explanation you don’t give. You don’t meet his eyes. "We need to move."

Your stomach still aches, but you don't vomit again. You walk quickly out of the trees and to the road.

The walk back is spent scanning more closely to see if you've drawn more with your smell. By the time you reach the cliff, midday swelters. Lightheadedness teeters your first attempt down. Kyle tosses the box and rifle to the bottom, then carries you on his back, your fingers interlocking to keep you secure like the backpack that hugs his chest.

A stop at the creek allows a shaky handful of water to splash your face. Taking off your jeans to wash your blood-stained thighs feels too much of a task. Instead, you watch Kyle finally finish striking the lock, the metal giving way under his relentless grunts.

"Do you want me to open it?" He glances at you.

A slow shake of your head. Your knees sink before it. Fingers hesitate at the latch. If this isn’t it—if it’s empty—you don’t know what comes next. What fills the space where the smallest sliver of hope has wedged itself in.

The scrape of rusted metal.

At first, all you see is cloth. A yellowed shade of white. A beat of nothing. Then, your hands move on their own accord, unwrapping the contents, brushing hard plastic. The faint rattle of capsules makes you inhale before you even read the first label: amoxicillin. You go still. Dig through for more. Four, five vials. Even more than what you had on you.

The run back to the house is a battle against your own legs.

The smell of blood hits first—thick, metallic. Not human. A quick glance confirms it, Price carving up a hefty cattle he must've found.

He's saying something, to Kyle maybe. You don’t pause.

The front door swings open.

Blue—

She slams into you, arms locking tight, breath knocked from your lungs.

"I saw you from the window."

"You shouldn’t be on your feet," you manage.

She looks down. At your hand. At the pills.

Her voice trembles. "You… you found it?"

You nod.

Up the stairs. Blue tugging at your sleeve. Kyle's steps audible behind you. The bedroom waits. Stale air. Ghost—he's lying on his stomach the way you left him, but a smother of something sticky glistens on his back.

"Honey," Blue mumbles, wincing as she lowers on the bed. "Ari... he found a hive. I was just about to put clean bandages, too. It helps, right?"

"Not as much as this should help."

Kyle begins lifting him.

"He was up for a bit, but he was... talking weird," Blue whispers as you kneel at Ghost's side, fight the shake in your hand to unscrew the cap. "He asked if you were sleeping outside—like, out loud, to himself. Then he kept saying ‘sparks’ and ‘Washington.’ Do you know what that means?"

The words barely register anything but confusion and the fact that he is even worse. It's Kyle who answers under his breath. "No clue." His gets Ghost upright without disturbing his wounds, steadying a hand at the back of his skull.

When your thumb presses at his bottom lip, the dry, cracked skin resists. As you try to pry it apart, his eyes flicker open—unfocused. Dilated pupils shift to yours.

"I need you to open," you whisper around the tightness in your throat. "It's amoxicillin. We've got it."

Overgrown hair clings to his forehead, thick and unruly. Sharp stubble scrapes your hand as you try again to open his mouth. Labored breaths hit your knuckles, unnervingly hot, along with a release of words he murmurs through his teeth. "There you are... again.

Your teeth graze your cheek. "Here I am. Now open, please."

He does—barely. The chalky pill makes it to his tongue. The rest blurs.

Waking up on edge is nothing new.

At first, you keep your eyes shut—squeezing them until the backs turn red. Then, true consciousness jolts through your limbs, setting a heavy heartbeat between your ears. Light floods your vision. Soft cheeks. Pink lips, pursed. Brows knitted tight.

"You make the strangest faces in your sleep sometimes."

"I..."

"Water?"

"Please," you croak.

Pins and needles prickle your fingers as you lift your head. A mug presses to your blistered lips, gentle fingers stroking the greasy hair at your temple. The gulp of water almost makes you moan. You're ready to down the entire things until it's pulled away.

"You're gonna throw up again if you keep going."

You lick your lips. "What?"

"You've been passed out for two days," Blue explains. "Except for when we tried to get you to eat and drink, but that was a fucking struggle. Nereida says you overworked yourself. Not enough sleep and water can kill you, you know." Her brow arches. "I told you not to do anything stupid, but I guess you've been doing that."

Two days.

You inhale through lungs that feel primitive.

"He—"

"Before you ask, yes. We've been giving him the meds. Morning and evening. His fever finally went down last night. He's been out since."

Your eyes finally drift to the other side of the bed. A steady rise and fall presses warmth into the sheets. You scramble up, reaching over—his cheek meets your palm, warm, but not alarmingly so. Normal, almost. A faint flush dusts his skin, the color creeping back in. His back is freshly bandaged, but his eyelids still bear the violet tinge of exhaustion.

"It's helping." The words press into your teeth.

The rest of the day passes in gentle fragments.

A bowl of fire-braised beef pressed into your hands. You eat without tasting, slow chewing through lush fat, while Price and Kyle pore over a more detailed almanac they found in the house. The food settles heavy, to the point of discomfort, but stays down.

Later, you wade into the creek with Nereida. She was the one who changed you while you were out—scrubbing the dirt from your legs, tucking fresh towels and a new pair of underwear beneath you. You only realize she added rosemary when a sprig falls out as you undress.

You listen to her talk. You don’t tell her about Salome. No. You keep it to yourself. The water is warm. At first, you don’t feel it. But as it swallows your shins and carries away ribbons of dried blood, the gentle current soothes, taking the edge off the sun, which turns the rocks along the bank scorching hot. Birds call from the trees—you don’t know what kind. Worm-like minnows tickle your sore toes.

Back at the house, you sit on the porch to wring out your hair. You catch Ari carrying Blue through the garden, her head tucked against his shoulder, bandaged feet dangling over the arm that hooks under her knees. They whisper about something. His steps are slow, pausing by a beautiful patch of flowers that, apparently, smell rancid by the way she leans in and recoils, making a face. When you look away, Kyle is staring at you across the grass as he hangs strips of beef over a tree branch to dry.

You should thank him. For not letting you do the stupid thing alone. But instead, you shift your gaze to the sun and watch its slow descent on your own, studying the way it casts an orange glow across the wild growth. It's the sudden assault of dark clouds that send everyone inside. A summer rain that bursts down without warning, without mercy.

It hasn't relented by the time you fix a bowl of meat for Ghost. He has yet to ingest anything but bone broth and some plum juice according to Blue and Nereida. You chew off little pieces of the least fattiest parts into a bowl and give it to Blue. You go with her to feed him but stop short, keeping your distance. You simply watch from across the room as he manages to sit up on his own despite swaying, brushing away Price's helping arm, and chewing slowly with great effort. His eyes, focused and clear, flit upward to yours. You hold them for a moment, until the pull in your chest turns intolerable, and you look down at his bandaged shoulder instead.

"Tastes good?" Blue murmurs, brushing the hair from his forehead.

He hums.

"How do you feel?"

He swallows, then lifts a hand to her hair, thumbing at it. "Young again."

She places her hand over his, biting a smile. "You're so annoying."

She wipes at her eyes.

Instead of easing, the rain intensifies as the night deepens. Distant thunder rolls closer, flashing into overhead lightning that only sharpens your edge. Blue spends the night with Ari in the living room, where Kyle helped them set up a small fort of blankets and pillows—a small distraction, but one she could use. It takes a nudge from you to push past her hesitation, to convince her it’s okay to leave Ghost’s side, just for a little while.

"It's good to have some space, if you need it."

That leaves you alone in the bedroom with him. He knocked out again after eating. You redo his bandages, relieved to find the wounds free of pus. New scabs have begun to form, fragile but promising.

But you can't lay down. You try—perch at the edge of the bed, press your palms into the mattress—then you're back on your feet.

The walls feel too close. The air too thick. His steady breathing should ground you, should ease something inside you, but it doesn’t. The storm is unyielding, pressing against the house, rattling the windows. It drives your nails into your palms, into the raw skin around them. A string ties itself around your ankles, pulling one foot in front of the other until you're in the hallway, hand blindly skimming the wall to guide you to the spiral staircase.

Upward.

The library. You don’t even realize you’ve come here until you freeze at the top of the stairs, staring at the wreckage left behind by your hands. Books lie scattered across the floor, pages severed and crumpled. A curtain rod rests askew, displaced in the quiet ruin.

When you finally move, it’s a mindless ordeal. The motions of putting the room back together—guided only by the stray flash of lightning—steal any thoughts before they can form. You kneel, gently stacking books against your chest, slotting them one by one back onto the oak shelves. Embellished spines offer familiar titles, even in French. A lot of Jane Austen.

"No Hemingway, huh?" you whisper, swiping a finger through the blanket of dust before bending for more books. You reach the last shelf, lips twitching. "I'm fixing you. Happy now?"

Of course, no answer. Only the faint slide of leather against the wood.

He’s in the room before you notice.

The presence registers as a skim along the back of your neck.

But you don’t turn, hand freezing after you release Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, then dropping limp at your side. You know it’s him. You feel it in the shift of the air, the weight of it settling differently around you. More so in the slow, deliberate footfalls, each one measured, as if testing the ground. And if none of that gives him away, the warmth of his breath—heavy, uneven—spilling over your scalp does. It sinks into your skin when he reaches you, winds through your veins, curls your toes against the floor until they hurt.

You try to inhale, but the breath snags, fracturing in your throat. "You shouldn’t be up."

"I shouldn't."

His hand lifts, knuckles skimming the flannel draped over your frame before grazing your neck with a slow, unhurried sweep of his thumb. It trails down your arm, pausing at the last book in your grasp. He takes it from you—or maybe it slips from your weak grip. You can't tell.

With a deep breath, he reaches the shelf above you. The book doesn't fit at first, his hand unsteady, struggling to align it. A final rough shove of his knuckles forces it into place. He’s close. You knew he was, but now his scent wraps around you—mossy, salty, earth that you fall face-first into. His chest skims your spine. An elbow grazes your ear as he finishes.

And then he turns you.

His fingers curl around your shoulder, guiding you until you're facing him. Your feet slide to follow, reluctant and all too willing. Storm-filtered light catches on the sharp cut of his jaw, casting it in shadow. You brace yourself. An unformed breath fills your chest. You're unable to meet his eyes—though you feel them, tracing every inch of your face.

Wordless, he takes hold of your wrist. You don’t understand why until he cradles it in his rough palm, between your chests. His chapped lips lower to the tail-end of the healing cut, light enough not to stir pain.

His lips move.

But you don't.

It's as if every function of your brain is funneled into the nerves beneath each kiss he trails up your forearm. Soft, unwavering, yet each one lingering for a beat longer than the last. The next one lands at the crease in your elbow. A breath finally rushes out of your nose when he reaches the top of your shoulder, close enough to the pounding artery in your neck to invite heat over your cheeks. A strange heat. The same temperature of the moisture that begins to cloud your vision.

You tremble. "Ghost, I—"

You make a last-ditch effort to clutch the hem of his jeans before your knees can waver, his mouth finding your throat. He kisses the part of it that bobs. Then pulls away just enough to cup your face between his hands, forcing your gaze to his. What you are met with is twin, black eyes. They unnerve you. Like the ground beneath your feet, it feels like they might swallow you whole and spit you out.

You can't breathe. The shaking is uncontrollable. Rapid blinks dispel the moisture in your eyes before you're gasping, pressing into him. "Please... please. Ghost, I—" you choke, "Please, I just—"

You sound scared, even to your own ears. Like you might get hurt if you he doesn't give you what you're asking for. But you don't know what you're asking for—don't understand why the soft kisses he places on your forehead and cheeks feel like too much and not enough at the same time. You clasp his wrist to pull his hands off your face, nails piercing into the skin there. He allows it—you hurting him—even when almost his entire upper half is swathed in bandages.

"You're shaking," he murmurs.

"I'm fine." You exhale, but it’s uneven, shaky in its own right. "I just need—"

His thumb presses under your chin in attempt to still you.

A swallow forces down the lump in your throat. The ghost of an inhale. Then you lunge, kissing him. Not gentle or hesitant. But with a desperate growl, bursting forth from your mouth into his, your hand threading into his hair and holding tight onto his skull.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley #zombie apocolypse au

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directactionforhope · 6 months ago

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Late notice but

Today 10/5 is an international day of action protesting one year of the Gaza genocide!

Find a protest near you today or tomorrow 10/6! If you're in the US, look at the links below, from the US Campaign for Palestinian Rights!

October 5, 2024

Note: Tumblr has capped the number of outgoing links you can use in one post. Go to the USCPR link above and click on a protest for a flyer/organizer info for each and every one of these events.

Albany, NY | 4:30PM Dana Park

Albuquerque, NM | 2PM Robinson Park

Amherst, MA | Amherst Town Common

Anchorage, AK | 2PM Townsquare Park

Atlanta, GA | 2PM 190 Marietta SW

Austin, TX | 1PM Austin City Hall

Birmingham, AL | 2PM Victoria Square

Blacksburg, VA | 3PM Pylons

Boston, MA | 2PM Cambridge City Hall

Burlington, VT | 1PM Battery Park

Charleston, SC | 2PM Marion Square Park

Chicago, IL | 2PM Water Tower Park

Cleveland, OH | 3PM 11804 Lorain Ave

Columbus, OH | 2PM Goodale Park

Corvallis, OR | 12 NOON County Courthoue

Dallas, TX | 12PM The Grassy Knoll

Denver, CO | 12PM 400 Josephine St

Detroit, MI | 2PM 5 Woodward Ave, Detroit

Dover, DE | 12 NOON 250 Gateway S Blvd

Fort Myers, FL | 6PM Centennial Park

Gainseville, FL | 2PM City Hall

Honolulu, HI | 11AM Ala Moana & Atkinson

Houston, TX | 2PM Houston City Hall

Indianapolis, IL | 2PM Lugar Plaza

Kansas City | 1PM Mill Creek Park

Kona, HI | 12:30PM Old airport by the skating rink

Las Vegas, NV | 2PM 3449 S Sammy Davis Jr Dr

Little Rock, AK | 4PM 1200 Main St

Los Angeles, CA | 2PM Pershing Square

Louisville, KY | 3PM Water Front Park

Maui, HI | 11AM Kapuka’ulua (Baldwin Beach)

Memphis, TN | 2PM City Hall

Miami, FL | 5PM Torch of Friendship

Milwaukee, WI | 2PM Zedler Union Square Park

Missoula, MT | 7PM 200 W Broadway

Nashville, TN | 2PM Centennial Park

New York, NY | 2PM Times Square

New Haven, CT | 1PM New Haven Green

New Orleans, LA | 5PM Congo Square

Ottawa, Ontario | 2PM Parliment Hill

Orlando, FL | 4PM Orlando City Hall

Pensacola, FL | 5PM Palafox & Gregorary St.

Pittsburgh, PA | Film screening, 3PM 100 S Commons St.

Portland, ME | 5PM Monument Square

Portland, OR | 3PM Unthank Park

Providence, RI | 3PM RI State House steps & 5:30PM 1 Finance Way

Raleigh, NC | 3PM Moore Square

Rochester, NY | 1PM MLK Park

Sacramento, CA | 2PM West steps of the Capitol

Salt Lake City, UT | 2PM 125 S State St

San Antonio, TX | 1PM Travis Park

San Diego, CA | 2:00PM 1600 Pacific Highway

Seattle, WA | 2PM TBA, with car caravans from Spokane, Pasco, Ellensburg

St. Louis, MO | Liberation weekend, 9AM-8PM 475 East Lockwood Ave

Tampa, FL | 2PM Bank of America Plaza

Toronto, Ontario | 2PM Yonge Dundas Square

Urbana, IL | 2PM 101 E Main St

Ventura, CA | 2PM 501 Poli St

Washington, DC | 4PM White House

West Plains, MO | 12 NOON Downtown Square

Wichita, KS | 12:30PM Spirit Aerosystems

October 6, 2024

Amityville, NY | 1PM LIRR

Boston, MA | 1PM Boston Common

Green Bay, WI | 5:30PM Leicht Memorial Park

Los Angeles, CA | Vigil, 6:30PM Echo Park Lake

Minneapolis, MN | 1:30PM Gateway Park Fountain

Ontario, CA | 1PM Euclid & C St

Paterson, NJ | 2PM Palestine Way with Gould Avenue

Roanoke, VA | Vigil, 6PM Heights Community Church courtyard

San Diego, CA | 4PM Centro Cultural de La Raza

San Francisco, CA | 1PM 16th & Valencia

San Jose, CA | 12 NOON City Hall

St. Louis, MO | 1PM Choteau Park

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k-hippie · 5 months ago

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RAVENWOOD ( LIFE & DEATH ) K-303 & K-606 BASEGAME ( ALMOST ) MANDATORY K-505 UPDATE

Hello people :)

Halloween has arrived, and with it, the Life & Death expansion ! We’ve been working hard to make sure Ravenwood is a hauntingly beautiful place for your Sims to visit … or haunt, depending on their mood. Here’s what’s new :

For once, we are going to make 2 posts related to the new town of Life & Death expansion : Ravenwood ...

Of course, this not the first time maxis includes base game stuff in expansions worlds, but this time, it's not about stuff but it's all about terrains ;)

So, except the Afterlife side of Ravenwood which has its own dark rocks, Ravenwood countryside is made of its own cliffs and ... Oasis Spring Rocks/Mountains ( a desert town, just as a reminder ) ... Why Oasis Spring ? it would be more logical to create specific new rocks or at least, choose the more grayish rocks from Willow Creek but well ... ea / maxis / logic <- not the best combo :D

So, after some tests, we decided to modify the rocks/mountains of Oasis Spring, which is only based on a choice of our own. Curiously, now they are not orange anymore, they give a less flat aspect to the town ...

Then, we modified "small" things & stuff of the base game we should have done a long time ago, but not mandatory such as the stone street planter and public lavatories. They are all over Ravenwood now, and their original look seems more ugly than before :D so, we modified them ;) idem with the base short stone fence ... ( yes we know, we have to make more fences )

-> Well, you see the point ;)

Related to the other k-303, the ones included in Ravenwood ( both sides ) we made few ones in order to get a similar look & feel than the k-505 urban :) And we modified a bit the debug town banners ( mostly sharpening, colour ) and streetlamps ... well, you'll discover it, or not :D your choice of course :)

The k-303 isn’t mandatory, but it adds just the right touch to elevate Ravenwood’s atmosphere. Here’s what’s been updated:

Gravesites – Some of the graves in Ravenwood had a mix of grass and dirt that didn’t quite fit the mood. We’ve refreshed these textures to blend seamlessly with the k-505 for that true cemetery feel.

Portal & Soul Bowl – Over in the Netherworld, the portal and soul bowl were looking a little… underwhelming. Now, with enhanced textures, they bring just the right level of mystique and “cool” factor to the other side.

Solicitor Rug – Our lovely public service solicitor has a new set of rugs that better reflect the status and vibe of Ravenwood. A touch of style for the gentleman who offers advice to all ( living or dead )

Street Decor – The town square banners, street lamps, and other decorative touches around Ravenwood have gotten a glow-up.

So, dive into and see how these textures and additions bring new life ( or un-life ) to this chilling town.

About the k-606 : roofs and foundation + 3 series of fences are re-made :) One is still under work and will be released very soon.

Ravenwood has so many fences we couldn’t just leave them plain and un-haunted. These additions help set the mood perfectly for any mysterious, eerie Sim wandering through town ;)

Because the large part of grass included in some other graves, we included them directly into the Ravenwood k-505 mod :)

And now, the links !

Download here the k-505 Basegame UPDATE

Download here the k-606 for Ravenwood

Download here the k-303 Ravenwood replacements

PLEASE, do not forget : delete the existing k-505 BASEGAME files and replace them with these new ones ( date : 11112024 ). Do not panic, the grassy and groundy parts are still dated 08082024 because untouched since this time :)

-> NEXT POST : RAVENWOOD K-505 MOD

...

#sims 4 #sims 4 custom content #sims 4 download #sims 4 wysiwyg #sims 4 cc #ts4 #the sims 4 #k-hippie #k303 #k hippie #k505 #k606 #k mods #override #basegame #ravenwood #sims 4 life and death

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cherie-doll · 3 months ago

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hunter!könig x doe!reader

your eyes so big and observant as you wander in the forest, it's your first year being out alone, away from the other deer. with every step you take nimbly because you're not experienced yet with where you can be loud and where you can be quiet, you hope not to attract the attention of a predator. the encounter will surely be deadly, your long gracile legs not thick enough to run for long distances, your soft body that will easily tear between sharp teeth.

you wouldn't venture out too far, preferring to stay in a patch of grassy meadow, lying in the soft earth and smelling the dirt and enjoying the gentle blow of trees that fence it in. you can fall asleep here among the blooming buds of flowers in spring, but when fall comes and things start dying you're forced to give up the now toughened and dry grass in search of the creeks where life is sure to be a little more green. you don't know when you step over into the hunter's section but soon the air is contaminated with sharp sounds piercing your ears, you're bolting through unknown terrain. you're confused and scared and you don't even know where to run to. safety was unknown here.

you take grand leaps across the fallen corpses of animals on the hills, the sun already setting. you hear and smell the hounds nearby, who must already be close on your trail. you tumble and fall as your hooves dig into unknown terrain, it's hard to manage in the unknown.

your strength is dwindling; you can't go on. the darkness has taken over and you figure it's best to find someplace to hide. the cold wind shakes the leaves and trees, creating the most terrifying sounds that make you shudder down to your bones. you feel something watching you and you instinctively take to running.

you're veering off the path now, your lungs burning, heart thumping wildly, legs weakening. and you've fallen right into the trap. a bear trap clamps it's jaws on your hind leg. you're full of adrenaline still but the pain is awful, you panic more as the sticks and twigs snapping underneath heavy steps that are coming closer. pushing away branches is a big, heavy man that stares down at you from ahead. you pull but you're locked down to the ground and can only watch paralyzed in fear as he continues his way down to you. he's even bigger up close. you snort, blowing air through your nostrils but can't do anything to defend yourself.

when he gets close he moves slower which confuses you, his gaze isn't on your throat but on your injured leg and when he kneels before you he takes to pushing the springs down and the clamps easily fall open underneath his strength.

you can't move as his hands move up to your ears, you tremble as he moves his thumb and forefinger creating a pleasant and rippling effect on your body as he calms your nerves down. you feel strangely safe as he cradles you gently in his arms, picking you up and carrying you away. his clothes are smudged with blood when he puts you down in front of a warm fire, across his skin are scars etched. he empties the chambers of his gun and rifle if it stops your quivering and allows you to sleep more soundly. and he only stares, his gaze deepening as your body rises and falls in rhythm to your breaths.

the moon hangs in the black sky blanketed with stars. you pray he's good to you as you're in your most vulnerable state. you bury your head into the earth as you choose to ignore the screams of distress of the other woodland creatures who were too agile to step into a bear trap, but they couldn't avoid the bullet.

you choose to expose your bone and were shown mercy.

#i pulled this out of my drafts to prove that im not dead #wanted to write something original for once #konig x you #konig x reader #konig cod #konig call of duty #cod fanfic

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pink-ladybugs · 14 days ago

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Harvest Moon Ch. 1

Farmhand Abby Anderson x Femme Reader

Inspired by:

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Description: Fluff, angst, friends to lovers, time skip. Abby Anderson farmhand AU. Modern AU.

Plot: You and Abby had been best friends since childhood. You basically grew up together in a small town in eastern Washington. However, a vicious fight separates the two of you. Only the most unpredictable circumstance can bring you back together. This is the first installation.

─────── 6 years ago ───────

“Abby’s here!” Uncle Dan shouts from downstairs. You rush to take out the rollers from your hair. Bouncy curls fall from where they were pinned in your half-assed attempt to do a blow out. Of course you didn’t practice your hair the night before. You silently reprimand yourself as you take out the final curl. Rubbing your lips together to make sure your lipstick is even, you hop down the stairs.

“Already? Prom starts at 8:00.” You say entering the kitchen where your uncle stands in his usual attire. A flannel and worn jeans. His work boots covered in mud. His smile shines through his salt and pepper beard.

“Well look who got all dressed up.” He says like a proud father. Well, he was the closest you had. Even though he was old enough to be your grandfather, Uncle Dan had adopted you when your parents passed away years ago.

His eyes glance to the door and you follow his gaze. Standing out on the porch was Abby. She looked just about as awkward as she always did. She had on a pair of black slacks and a white button up. Her dirty blonde hair in its usual braid and her feet in their usual work boots. Her back was straight and her hands were sweaty, gripping onto a bouquet of baby pink peonies.

“Hey.” She says taking a step into the kitchen. Her slight southern accent adds a sweet tang to whatever she says. You twirl around, showing off your dress.

“You ready for the best night of our lives?” You say sarcastically. Abby rolls her eyes.

“Oh yeah. Sweatin’ in the high school gym is where our lives will truly peak.” She says handing you the peonies.

“Look how chivalrous you are with the flowers.” You say taking a sniff. Abby’s cheeks flush for a moment before she averts her eyes.

“I figured since nobody asked you to be their date we could at least pretend.” She says with a smirk. You slap her on the shoulder and furrow your brow at the very unfunny joke.

Dan gives you two the usual talk before you two go anywhere together. Even though you and Abby are the least reckless kids in town and nothing crazy ever happens here anyways.

“No drugs, and no booze, and if someone offers you candy in a white van do not take it, and…” He rattles on.

“Okay! Thanks! We’ll see you later!” You say taking Abby’s hand and rushing the two of you down the porch steps.

“Drive safe!” He yells as the two of you climb into Abby’s pick up truck and start rolling down the driveway.

“We will!” Abby shouts out the driver side window. The truck drives down winding roads with the windows half open. As the sun sets, the fresh dusk air blows your hair back. You watch as vast properties of farmland zip by. Endless wheat fields and grassy plains with wildflowers pass you on your way to the high school.

You had lived in Dry Creek all your life. You knew everyone in your graduating class (a whopping 32 people.) Abby had been your only true friend for… well forever. Senior prom was supposed to be a fun moment. But all you could think about was the immense guilt you felt… you knew you had to tell Abby what’s been weighing on your mind. Tonight. But not yet, you can still make this the best night together ever. Even if it’ll be the last one for a while.

The truck pulls into the school parking lot. You and Abby get out and start walking towards the gym. Loud music booms and students chatter. The two of you give your tickets to the chaperones outside of the gym before entering. A sad excuse for a prom awaits you.

A couple of streamers decorate the ceiling of the gym. Not nearly enough to “transform a space.” A few kids litter the dance floor. No one dances, they all stand awkwardly with punch in their hands. A middle aged man with a fold up table clicks a few buttons on his laptop.

“Well that’s where the budget went. Look at how professional the DJ is.” Abby says sarcastically. You giggle as you walk towards the punch bowl. You pour yourself a glass and grimace once you take a sip.

“No I think it was the punch. They really went all out with the Kool Aid packets.” You remark. The two of you laugh as the music plays.

The rest of the night goes just as well as you would expect a prom in a high school gym out in the middle of nowhere to go. Mediocre. Once you and Abby have a few underwhelming dances (well, more of a sway really) to a couple of outdated songs, you head out to Abby’s truck.

“I think we can have a better time somewhere else.” Abby says as she climbs into the driver’s seat.

“I think we could have a better time anywhere than whatever that was.” You say shaking your head.

Abby drives to a small diner on the outskirts of town. The two of you order burgers to-go and get back in the truck.

“Where are we going then?” You ask with the hot bag of food in your lap.

“Be patient will you?” Abby says with a small smile. The truck disappears into the forest, it follows long dirt trails leading the two of you to the lake at the edge of town. As the truck slowly stops at the edge of the lake, you get the perfect view of fireflies dancing over the water. The night sky is littered with stars as the two of you walk over to the dock with your burgers.

“I needed this.” You say biting into your burger once the two of you were seated at the edge of the dock, feet dangling over the lake.

Abby grunts in agreement as she takes a bite of her own burger.

“I cant believe we did it. We actually graduated.” Abby says looking out onto the lake.

“Well we all knew that I would graduate. Jury was out on you for a while.” you say. Abby gives you a side eye.

“Whatever. Let’s talk about how you almost failed P.E. after only getting to level 15 on The FitnessGram PACER Test.” Abby bites back.

“I have asthma!” You protest. This gets a smirk and a chuckle out of Abby.

“As glad as I am that it’s over, I think I’ll miss it a little.” Abby says after a moment of silence.

“How can you say you’re going to miss it? It was the worst four years of our lives.” You jokingly scoff as you pop a french fry into your mouth.

“I’ll just miss you and me seeing each other everyday. I mean, I know that will never change. It’s not like we’re going anywhere. I think I’m just sad we’re not kids anymore. You know?” Abby says looking down at her burger. Your stomach churns from guilt. Maybe that will change…

“Abby I got something to tell you.” You say putting your burger down. Abby’s eyes meet yours. Your body feels like it’s on fire. You had never kept a secret from Abby before. It was killing you.

“I have something to tell you too actually.” She says. “But you go first.”

Your mind races as you try to piece together a good way to say this. You had already practiced in your head a million times the night before.

“Well you know how I applied to a bunch of universities? I was just messing around. I didn’t think I’d get in anywhere crazy.” You start. Your pointer finger picks at the skin on your thumb. Abby nods.

“Stanford gave me a scholarship…” You say. Abby’s eyes widen. “I guess my SAT score was really impressive…” you explain. Abby sits there with a shocked expression and lets silence take over. You desperately try to fill it with rambling. “Dan said he would help me with the rest. Obviously we’re gonna drive down there to tour the campus and everything and it’ll be tricky to move all my stuff to California but-“

“You’re leaving?” Abby asks. Her voice cracks. Your heart drops. This is exactly what you were afraid of.

“I mean I always knew I wasn’t fit for this small town stuff. You know that. I always wanted more, and Abby this is Stanford.” You plead. Abby shakes her head in disbelief.

“So you already accepted?” She asks, her eyes searching yours for any sign that this is a prank.

“Cmon Abby don’t be like that. Im sorry-“

“You cant just leave me- everybody behind!” She shouts. You are taken aback by her harsh tone. You had never seen this side of her before.

“Abby this is my chance to get out of this stupid town! Why can’t you be happy for me?”

“This stupid town? When did you become better than everyone?” She says standing up. You shoot up to meet her at eye level.

“Whats up with you? We always talk about how dumb this town is. You really want to stay here?” You ask with disbelief in your voice. You had no idea Abby would get so angry.

Abby frowns and stares at you, like she wants to say something but just can’t seem to get it out.

“You belong here. What do you need to go to California for? Everything you could ever need is right here!” She protests.

“Everything you could ever need is right here Abby. Maybe you can make a shitty life for yourself in this shitty town but I can’t! I need more!” You yell. Your cheeks turn red.

Abby looks pained at these words. You feel guilty for snapping at her but your anger gets the better of you.

“Abby, everyone does this at some point! It’s called growing up! You cant just stay in the same town forever. What, are you gonna die here? In Dry Creek?” You shout. Abby’s face twists in disgust. Like she doesn’t even know you anymore.

“Well if you hate it here so much Im glad you’re leaving.” She says as she walks towards her truck. You stare at her in disbelief as she walks away.

“Abby you cant just leave me here!” You say stomping after her. She gets in the drivers seat and puts her key in the ignition.

“If this town is so shitty and small than it won’t be too far to just walk home right?” Abby shouts angrily from inside the truck.

You grunt in frustration and disblief as you watch the truck leave. You look back out onto the lake and sigh. Your anger is replaced by sadness. You didn’t want to hurt Abby, but it seems like that was inevitable.

You start the trek home under the moonlight.

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Thank you for reading!!! I don’t know when the second installment will be but here is my first attempt at writing a fic.

#wlw post #wlw yearning #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson #abby anderson au #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #abby tlou2 #Spotify #fluff #angst with a happy ending #angst #friends to lovers

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whispering-clan · 1 year ago

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The Costal Valley Territories

I made a map of the Whisper-verse clan's territories!

These clans live alongside the sea in a small valley split by a river!

Note: this map is more representative than entirely accurate, I just tried to show the basic idea of what the territories look like.

Descriptions of the Clan Territories below!

Moon Island:

Moon Island is both the gathering place for the clans on the full moon, and the place where the majority of the clans (excluding Whisperingclan) go to speak to Starclan. In the middle of the island where the trees form a circle around a large stone, the leaders will perch for meetings. This is also where cats wishing to speak to Starclan sit- under the light of the moon and stars.

...

Age/origin: Youngest clan; formed after the founders were banished from Roaringclan for a coup against the new leader.

Whisperingclan:

Mood Board

Territory: the tallest mountains, rocky, though with some trees, grass and bushes interspersed with the stone. There are a few small creeks and pools running through the mountains due to rain and snow run off, there are also several caves within the mountain. The winter is the worst here with the high altitude and high snowfall.

Camp: the Whispering Cave, a large cave filed with mystical glowing crystals which seem to whisper with the words of the Starclan ancestors. There are several pools above the cave, from which small streams of water fall through cracks in the stone into the cave.

Borders: the River marks the border with Roaringclan and SIngingclan; the border with Growlingclan is only marked with scent markers, though the change in territories can also be seen in the mountain peaks becoming lower and sharper in Growling territory.

...

Roaringclan:

Age/Origin: One of the oldest clans, formed at the same time as Singingclan and Echoingclan; territory was once larger, but was taken over by humans.

Territory: grassy, hilly, plains. Notable features are small patches of trees and bushes, a lake, a muddy/ soil patch by the river, and many little burrows to be found amongst the hills.

Camp: the Abandoned Burrows, a circle of empty fox burrows surrounded by trees and bushes.

Borders: the River marks the border with Whisperingclan; the creek marks the borders of Singingclan and Weepingclan; and on all other sides a human fence marks where their territory ends and the Human Farms begin.

...

Weepingclan:

Age/Origin: Second youngest, though still far older than Whisperingclan; formed from Singingclan separating into two clans, not from any all out fighting, but the realization that there were two obvious separate groups (in skill and personality) in the clan that could survive better in the separate territories.

Territory: marsh lands and dark forests made up of willows and oaks. The forests have soft thick wet peat, though there are some rocky places. Tall grasses and reeds grow around the marsh giving good cover.

Camp: The Weeping Grotto, a large cave opening within a rocky area of the forest of which is surrounded by the largest and oldest weeping willows of the territory.

Borders: the border with Roaringclan is marked by the creek; the border with Singingclan is marked by scent markers, though the change in territories can also be seen in the change in types of trees; the small piece of border with Echoingclan is separated by the river at it's widest, though both clans lay claim to half of the row of stepping stones which could connect the territories; the border which is not shared with any clan stops where human trails (hiking trails) begin, farther from there are human dens and farms.

...

Singingclan:

Age/Origin: One of the oldest clans, formed at the same time as Roaringclan and Echoingclan; originally encompassed Weepingclan as well, but they amicably separated into two clans for better survival.

Territory: forests made of oak and birch along with meadows filled with wildflowers and grasses. Through the center of the territory runs the River and a small creek shoots off through the territory as well. the river is banked by reeds and other water plants.

Camp: the River Hollow, a space surrounded by trees in the center of the island in the middle of the River within their territory.

Borders: the border with Roaringclan is marked by the creek; the border with Whispering and Growlingclan is marked by the River; the border with Weepingclan is marked by scent markers, though the change in territories can also be seen in the change of types of trees; and the border with Echoingclan is marked with scent markers, though it is easy to tell where it is, it is where the sand begins.

...

Echoingclan:

Age/Origin: One of the oldest clans, formed at the same time as Roaringclan and Singingclan; originally encompassed Growlingclan as well, though unlike Weeping and Singing, the separation was born from civil war, the losing side being Growlingclan.

Territory: a beach, almost entirely sand with only costal plants growing in the territory. There is a cliff line which is made up of rock, at the higher end of which the beach is mostly rock with tide pools, weathered stone arches, and the opening to a system of sea caves. This territory seems small, but the sea caves stretch out underneath for large expanses, and even under Growlingclan's territory, Echoingclan lays claim to all of the cave system even under other clan's terriotories.

Camp: the Sea Caves, mostly the large cavern formed at the front opening of the Sea Caves but some cats may even make their own dens in smaller off shoots of the caves as well.

Borders: most of their borders are at the sea's edge, though their borders with the other clans are marked with scent markers; it is easy to tell where territories end however. the border with Singingclan is where Singing's grass begins, and the border with Growlingclan is where the mountain's stone begins.

...

Growlingclan:

Age/Origin: Third youngest, though still far older than Whisperingclan; formed from Echoingclan separating into two clans, two factions in the clan had formed and went into a civil war, Echoing won and banished the losing side to the far less hospitable side of the territory.

Territory: Truly one of the harshest territories, the lower levels of the mountains, rocky sharp lands that end with cliffs along the sea shore that are too high to dare try to reach the sea. There are small groups of shrubs and small trees, but little else in the form of plant life. there are some small pools which are cherished as they are the only certain sources of water.

Camp: the Broken Crag, a cliff face which is broken in places revealing small caves where cats can make dens.

Borders: the border with Whisperingclan is marked with scent markers though the change in territories can also be seen through the mountain peaks becoming higher in Whispering territory; the small border with Singingclan is marked with the river; the border with Echoingclan is marked with scent markers though it is easy to tell where the border is, it is where the sand begins.

#this was fun to make #I love world building :3 #whisperingclan #cryptid plays clangen #clangen #warrior cats #my ocs #warriors #ocs #singingclan #roaringclan #echoingclan #weepingclan #growlingclan #the other clans

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