#they would never see sunrise together in a world where they'd be safe

[gutfaced]

haymitch and chaff rant once again but do you think about how if they were partners hypothetically how they would have a reputation to uphold (despite being alcoholics and despite being shunned for it even though it IS a sickness) and how homosexuality would not bode well as a victor, especially not BETWEEN two victors. and how they'd have never gotten to live a life where their love wasn't scrutinized/something shameful not only because one of them doesn't survive to see that life, but maybe it would've been frightening. i love you/despite it being a form of rebellion/despite what we are and what we represent. i love yous could never be public, they would never be a common word at gatherings where your hand is clasped over mine and the night has crept in and we've had too much to drink!!!

[gretavandutchy]

blue hour | two

{sam kiszka x fem!reader} blue hour is the short period of time before sunrise or after sunset when the sun is just below the horizon. indirect sunlight is evenly diffused and takes on a blue shade.

summary: traveling the world as greta van fleet’s touring photographer seemed like a dream come true, but as the days pass you worry it may just be your worst nightmare. work is rapidly merging with pleasure, and as feelings change you’re left to wonder: does what happens on tour really stay on tour?

word count: 4.8k

warnings: language, references to substance abuse, alcohol

After working with Greta Van Fleet, it was safe to say that you were a little jaded when it came to your internship. A little over a month had passed since you met the band, and following their departure, The Heat had gone right back to booking small-name musicians and local artists. A lot of them were great, and you enjoyed meeting them, but you were wondering if you'd simply never paid any attention to how entitled some of them could be.

Some of the artists that came through were exceptionally crass. There had been a local band of fresh college graduates a few weeks prior, a little group that called itself Apollyon and offered a heavy, angry sort of sound that honestly reminded you of nails in a blender. That wasn't to say you didn't see the appeal in heavier rock, because you did, it was just that they weren't good.

They certainly had thought they were, though. Having formed in college, they'd garnered a fair bit of success in playing college parties and the like, and they had a cult following of young students that apparently had never heard anything better. Somehow they'd managed to book a small stage at a festival over the previous summer, and now that they were releasing their first album they were looking to get some press. That was how they had come to The Heat.

At the time, you'd never met any group of musicians so self-absorbed and downright rude. But, Apollyon couldn't have held a candle to the artist you were working with that day. His name was Richie, a thirty-year-old man who probably pissed in bottles because he was too lazy to go to the bathroom, and you were roughly two seconds away from punching him in the face.

As if he could sense that you were thinking of him, and consequently deciding to test your patience further, Richie snapped his fingers and whistled before calling, "Hey, you!"

The set fell just a little quieter, though you paid him no mind. Your jaw was set indignantly and your eye was twitching as your temper flared, but Dorothy's warning glare kept you from snapping at him. Nevertheless, if he needed something he could regard you by name--the name you'd informed him of at least ten times since he'd arrived only an hour prior. You weren't a dog.

"I'm talking to you!" he urged, voice rising in pitch and volume, "Yeah, you with the camera!"

The camera in your hands crackled slightly as your grip tightened in anger, and after a pointed stare from Dorothy, you finally heaved a sigh and turned your head to acknowledge the watery-eyed man with a stony glare. "What?" you asked, not even bothering to repeat your name again. Clearly, he did not care to remember it or acknowledge that he had heard it.

Richie rolled his eyes like a petulant pre-teen boy, scratching his nose before giving you a wide-eyed look that conveyed just how stupid he thought you were. "Where's my beer?" he demanded, enunciating his words despite the way they all slurred together still.

Your eyes flickered down to the beer gut that hung over his leather pants, one eye-brown crooking as you deadpanned, "It's nine in the morning--"

Sensing that the conversation could only go south with the pent-up frustration spilling out of you, Dorothy was quick to interject, "We don't have any beer, Mr. Knight, I'm sorry. Would you like a water instead?"

You were quick to tune the conversation out, turning your attention back to the gear you'd been checking before Richie's rude interruption. As you worked, your mind drifted over the stark contrast between the artists you'd worked with more recently and Greta Van Fleet. If anything, you'd have expected a band with actual success to be blown so full of hot air and self-righteous, but they had been anything but.

It amazed you, really, how a man like Richie Knight could be such a steaming pile of shit. He was thirty years old and already washed up. Childhood fame could have had something to do with that, though, and you imagined that it also had a lot to do with his sense of entitlement.

He was working with The Heat in an attempt to get his name back out there, after nearly ten years of being completely off the radar. He'd never been the most famous, but he had been quite the name locally when you were a kid--you remembered vaguely a time in which he'd been at the radio station with your father. That was shortly before he stopped making music, and only now were you starting to get an idea as to why.

In short, it was very obvious that he was struggling with addiction. The man hadn't stopped sniffling or scratching his nose since he'd arrived, and who else but an alcoholic demanded a beer at nine in the morning? He was still arguing with Dorothy over it by the time you finished checking all of the gear.

Assuming that you were correct, and he was struggling, you felt sympathy for him. It only went so far, though, and being snapped and whistled at like a dog squashed whatever empathy you had in a split second. The thought of barking back at him amused you in the moments where your irritation dulled, visions of attacking him like the dog he thought you were swimming behind your eyes.

Dorothy was ragged by the time Richie left the studio, her wispy hair fanning out around her head in wild tufts and her eyes so tight you wondered if she'd stapled them open. "Never again," she muttered, "I will never work with that man again."

"Do I have a tail that I wasn't aware of?" you joked, and you were happy to see that at least that earned a laugh from the frazzled woman. "For a while, I was worried that I've been barking all this time, and just never realized it!"

The two of you cracked jokes as you did a quick run-through of the photographs, sifting through the many shots of the man with the watery eyes that were strategically taken to hide his beer gut. None of them were great, per se, though you did manage to pick out a few that were better than the others. His fowl personality translated a little too well onto film, you liked to think.

Surprisingly, it was well into the evening when you both agreed to call it a day. You weren't entirely sure where the time had gone, though you had an idea that it had a lot to do with Richie's nitpicking and complaining. The shoot itself would have been fast if he'd have just kept his mouth shut for half a second.

"Do you have dinner plans?" Dorothy asked as you stepped into the elevator just behind her, reaching out to push the button for the ground floor. "I was thinking we could both use a drink after today if you're free."

You hummed a noise of agreement, chuckling to yourself as you checked your phone to make sure Kyle hadn't mentioned any special plans. "Sounds good, I think I might go for a salty dog."

The woman beside you cracked up at your joke, laughing so hard she had to lean against the elevator wall for support. "Sorry, I'm sorry--I think I'm delirious with exhaustion." she sputtered, and you giggled as you watched her struggle to catch her breath, "Shit, I needed that. I'll meet you at The Styx? You know where that is, right?"

"Yeah," you nodded, though you trailed off as you noticed a missed call from an unknown number, "I'll see you there. I gotta make a call, first."

The two of you split ways as you made your way out of the glass doors to The Heat's building, stepping out into the fading light of the sunset. It was golden hour, the sun sitting low on the horizon and casting a reddened hue over the world around you. All around you, warm tones of red, and orange, and gold glittered over the windows and glass exteriors of the buildings.

It was fading fast, but you took a moment to appreciate the beauty as your thumb hovered over the call button on your phone. People were walking down the street, some hand in hand and others in large groups, and the noise of the city swallowed you up in a peaceful sort of bliss. It was nice fading into the background for a brief moment, taking a pause to just breathe after a rough day and let the warmth of the fading sun wash over your face.

Nobody paid you any mind as you leaned against the wall just beside the door, raising your phone to your ear and listening to the droning hum of the dial tone with a low level of curiosity. The number wasn't local, an area code that you didn't recognize in the slightest, and a million possibilities were swirling around your mind. In all actuality, you weren't entirely sure why you even bothered to call back.

Most likely, it was a scam call about your car's extended warranty.

"Hello?" a gruff voice finally cut through the dial tone, and there was a considerable amount of chatter in the background that was hard to make out, "Sorry, I can't hear a thing--I'll be right back!"

There was a shout, and then the line went silent before you could faintly make out the thud of a door closing. "Hello?" you asked, pulling your phone away from your ear as if you'd magically recognize the number. You didn't, and you chuckled uneasily as you spoke, "Sorry, I had a missed call from this number, but you probably just misdialed--""

"Wait!" the man's voice jumped, "Is this (Y/N) (Y/L/N), from The Heat?"

The street lights kicked on as the sun finally dipped below the horizon. You jumped a little as one buzzed audibly to life just beside you, before replying, "Yeah, that's me... can I ask who this is?"

"I'm Adam, we met about a month ago! I work with Greta Van Fleet, and I was hoping to speak to you about a job opportunity?" Adam relayed, and your mind flashed back to the man you'd met very briefly when the guys had been in the studio. You tried to pinpoint who exactly he was, a part of you remembering him introducing himself as the band's manager, but you weren't entirely sure.

Either way, your heart kicked up a notch as you meekly replied, "Oh, hey! Uh, I don't actually handle the bookings, but I can give you the number to call if you're looking to schedule another interview--"

"No, it's nothing like that, I'm actually calling for you specifically." he quickly interrupted, "The band's touring photographer quit a couple months ago, and we've been looking for a new one. Now, I know you've never done anything like it before, but the guys have shown me your work and I was impressed. They really seemed to like you, so I guess, to be blunt, if you want the job it's yours."

You dropped your phone.

Scrambling with a hissed curse, you lunged to pick it up from the sidewalk and pressed it back to your ear. The eager, irrational part of you was screaming at you to agree right then. Take the job, it yelled, take it right now!

But, the responsible part of you knew that wasn't wise. So, you tried not to sound quite so flustered as you cleared your throat and still squeaked out, "Do you need an answer right now?"

Adam laughed, and explained, "No, of course not. There's a lot to go over before any decisions have to be made, but are you free tomorrow to talk about it? I'm kind of in the middle of something right now that I need to get back to, otherwise I'd just go through it all."

It felt like you were disconnected from reality as you made your way home, sending Dorothy a text apologizing for having to bail. You made a lame excuse about Kyle needing help, but luckily she accepted it with no questions asked. A small part of you considered still meeting up with her, wishing to gain her insight on what to do with the offer, but without all the information you felt that it was premature.

For all you knew, the offer could suck, and then you'd fill her head with worries that you were looking to quit the internship for no reason. In your heart, though, you knew the offer wouldn't suck. Adam could offer to pay you in peanuts and beer, and it would still be an opportunity worth taking.

Something was just holding you back, though, and you weren't sure what it was. There was a pit of anxiety in your stomach, and a million worries swirling around your head. You weren't sure if it was the fear of change, the fear of dropping everything and leaving Kyle and everyone you loved behind for a job, or the fear of failing.

The worries of failing were heavy on your head as you made your way into the apartment. What if you took the job, and made a complete fool of yourself? What if you really just weren't cut out for it? What if you'd been chasing this dream, this desire to be just like your mom, only to figure out that you couldn't?

It terrified you. It terrified you to think that you could fail not only at your dreams but fail the band that was taking a chance on you with next to no experience to go off of. They meant a lot to you, and the idea of letting them down sent licks of fiery shame to the very tips of your toes.

More than anything, the sense that it was all a dream scared you the most. Things like that just didn't happen, especially not to you. A band like Greta Van Fleet asking you to work for them, with no experience and only one interaction between you all? It was preposterous! Surely, at any moment, you'd wake up to find that it was all in your head.

"You look like hell." Kyle acknowledged from the kitchen, poking his head out of the door to find you leaning heavily against the wall with a deep frown. Normally the words would have earned a teasing scoff from you, but you were too consumed with your thoughts to even acknowledge your boyfriend who seemed to grow more concerned by the second.

He disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, and faintly you could hear the sound of the stove flicking off, before he came trudging back with a furrow in his brows and worry in his eyes. "What's up? Did something happen at work?" he asked, reaching out to sweep your frazzled hair from your face.

You really weren't entirely sure how to encapsulate the thoughts in your head into words. How did you accurately explain that a potentially life-changing, amazing thing had happened, but you were really considering not taking the chance? How did you explain it without sounding ungrateful, or whiny? Because, you weren't ungrateful, and you didn't want to be whiny--but the idea of accepting the offer filled you with a type of dread you'd never experienced before.

Regardless, you sounded pitiful as you stammered, "I just got offered a job touring with Greta Van Fleet."

Kyle's eyebrows practically shot off of his forehead they lifted so fast, his eyes widening in surprise and lips parting as he struggled to find words. You could see his eyes tracing every feature of your face, blue irises clouding with confusion as he took in the less than thrilled expression that you wore. Curiously, he murmured, "That's amazing, (Y/N)... right?"

You chewed at the inside of your cheek, pondering how to convey your feelings as accurately as possible. Coming up short, you settled on trying to push the conversation away, "It is, but I won't know what it's about until tomorrow, so who knows. Are you making spaghetti?"

Faintly, the scent of tomato sauce was wafting out of the kitchen and your stomach rumbled in reaction. You were thankful for the sound, for once, because Kyle cracked a smile and nodded, "Yeah, I figured you'd be hungry."

He only let the conversation go for so long, though.

You were thankful that he let the subject drop as you made your way into the bedroom to change, and then joined him in the kitchen to finish up cooking. He cheered you up, mostly, as he put on some music and spun you around the kitchen between the moments spent stirring pots of sauce and boiling pasta. It was a nice distraction, and you found yourself forgetting about your worries for at least a little while.

As plates were served and wine was poured, though, they crept back into your mind slowly. You were distracted as Kyle told you about his day, lamenting the dullness of his accounting job, and even though he didn't say anything you knew that he could tell you were only partially engaged. He was sweet like that, letting you have your time to mull things over instead of hounding you to just spit it out.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end. He broached the topic as you filled up the sink with soapy water to wash the dishes, sidling up next to you under the guise of helping. His voice was soft as he spoke over the running faucet, "Are you ready to talk about why you're not over the moon yet? I would think you'd be packing your bags already after an offer like that, so what's going on?"

"I don't even know whether I'll take the offer yet, so why would I pack my bags?" you retorted, immediately grimacing as you heard the hostile tone that escaped you. Sighing, you gripped the edge of the sink and leaned against it, "Sorry, I shouldn't take it out on you. I'm just... confused."

Kyle bumped your shoulder with his own, leaning down to press a sweet and chaste kiss to your lips when you looked up at him with a pout. At the little sigh you gave, he kissed you once more for good measure, before murmuring, "What are you confused about? I may be a boring, old accountant, but I can try to help if you'll let me."

You began to scrub at the pot that had contained the tomato sauce, finding the use of your hands to be a good distraction as you let the words spill out of you, "I don't--I don't even know how to explain it. I am excited and happy, and trust me, the urge to pack my bags and say yes with no hesitation is definitely there... but, what if it's a mistake?"

Kyle took the pot from your hands to rinse, working methodically with you as you picked up the next dish and began scrubbing it too. "What do you mean by mistake?" he asked.

"What if I fail?" you mumbled, handing over the second pot and picking up the large serving spoon with shaking hands, "What if I say yes, and make a complete fool of myself? What if I'm not cut out for this job, and I've wasted all of this time chasing a dream that will never work out?"

You protested slightly as Kyle pulled the spoon from your grip and dropped it back in the water, the sponge following suit before he cut the water and turned to you with a stern gaze. "How will you ever know if you don't try?" he asked, but he continued before you could offer a response, "I, for one, believe that you'll be the best damn photographer that band has ever had. You're talented, (Y/N), and this is a chance to show the world that. It's okay to be afraid, but don't let that fear make you doubt yourself--you are capable, even if you're nervous."

"But--"

He cut off your weak attempt to argue, stating, "I'm not telling you that you have to do it, or that I think you should take the job without even knowing what it entails. I'm just saying think about it, okay? Go over the offer with them, and if it seems like a good deal then consider it. Really consider it--don't just convince yourself that you'll fail without even trying."

Sighing again, you relented, "Okay."

"Promise me you'll try to be optimistic?" he urged, and you fought against the smile that was working its way onto your lips when he pressed his forehead to your own and bumped his nose against yours playfully. You nodded, and he smiled, "Good. Now, let me see that smile."

You descended into laughter as he began to prod his fingers into your sides, tickling you relentlessly until you were gasping for air and threatening to splash the dishwater on him if he didn't stop. The worry was still there, a bitter string of endless self-doubt in the back of your mind, but you did feel a little more optimistic. Even if you failed, at least you could say that you tried.

That was when you knew. As Kyle flicked water into your face and dodged the splash of soapy water you swatted his way, you knew that no matter what you'd take the offer. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one that you were almost certain you'd never get the chance to take again, and even if you failed at least you tried. Even if you did fail, you'd still have a life to return to. Kyle would still be there, endlessly supporting you, and you knew that you'd found an ally in Dorothy even if she was no longer your boss.

The next day, Adam called you early in the morning to go over the offer. The band was embarking on a world tour, and the initial North American leg would be your trial run of sorts. It started in one month, to the day, and was a three-month-long tour around the United States with a few select shows in Canada. If things went well during that time, the band was prepared to offer you a contract for the rest of the international tour dates.

It paid well, though anything paid better than your internship, really. By the end of the call, you were well aware there was no reason to say no other than your own insecurities. So, you only hesitated for a second before stating, "I'll do it."

"That was fast," Adam laughed, "are you sure you don't need time to think about it? This is a big commitment, and you're going to be on the road with no breaks for months. I understand if you need time to discuss it with anyone."

You shook your head even though he couldn't see you, smiling as your eyes flickered to Kyle who sat on the sofa a few feet away with an excited grin and two thumbs up. "No, I don't need time--I think I'd be an idiot to say no." you repeated, and you had to bite your knuckle to keep from squealing in excitement.

Adam didn't sound surprised as he relented, "Okay, well, great! You're not locked into anything until we sign the contract, so if you have to back out for any reason just let me know. If not, I'll see you in Detroit in thirty-one days, and we'll sign some papers."

The next few days went by in a blur. You had an entire month to prepare for the tour, but you were sitting on an endless supply of nervous energy that had to be channeled into something, so you were already packing. Kyle helped you when he had time, though it was pointless considering you emptied and repacked your suitcase more times than you could count, and half of the time you had to remove things to be used anyways.

Dorothy was sad to see you go, but there was no denying the way her eyes lit up when you told her your reason for quitting. The woman had practically smothered you with the force of her hug, spinning you around and gushing her excitement for you in a torrent of loud, garbled words. It was bittersweet collecting the small number of your things from The Heat, but you were more than excited to be done with the internship.

A part of you wished that you could take Dorothy with you, both for your own comfort and the fact that you knew she was more suited to a job like that. She was far more talented than what little exposure The Heat was worth, and it was a mystery to you as to why she worked there. She was happy, though, and that was all that mattered.

The first weekend following your acceptance, Kyle had taken you out on a date to the fancy Italian restaurant you always fantasized about but never actually went to. It was ridiculously expensive, the sort of place you had to dress formally to enter, and he'd hushed all of your mumblings about money with a smile. "Don't worry about that," he told you, "I want to celebrate my amazing girlfriend."

And celebrate you, he did. He treated you to a night of foods you couldn't even pronounce, and a bottle of wine that you were fairly certain would have killed you if you saw the price of it, and he even insisted the two of you split a dessert. He held your hand over the table throughout the entire outing, drawing circles aimlessly on the back of your hand, and your heart was so full it was nearly bursting.

In fact, you were pretty sure it did burst when he pulled out a wrapped box the moment the two of you returned home. It was a brand new Canon camera, the same one you'd been lusting after for years but never had the money or the willpower to buy. "Kyle," you gasped, eyes welling when you looked into the box to find a set of lenses and some memory cards, "I can't believe you did this. This is--this is way too much, I can't--"

"Stop," he chuckled, "I've been paying this thing off for a while, so don't worry that I just went out and blew our savings on it. It was supposed to be your Christmas gift this year, but I think with all things considered it's worth it to give a little early."

It amazed you how effortlessly perfect he seemed to be. Sometimes you wondered what you had done to deserve such an angelic man, a guy who went above and beyond for you in every way without you ever having to ask. Even the fact that he'd been secretly paying off the camera for an unknown length of time filled you to the brim with butterflies. Somehow, it made it even better to know this was a gift he'd always found you deserving of, and not just because you'd gotten a cool job.

You were pretty sure you were hemorrhaging when you plugged in your phone that night to find an Instagram notification from Sam Kiszka.

Kyle was fast asleep beside you, snoring quietly into the darkness as you gaped at your phone. It wasn't anything special, just a simple message welcoming you to the tour family and a warm regard that they were excited to work with you again, but it practically made you vibrate with excitement. You tried to reign it in as you thanked him and returned the sentiments, but you were biting your tongue to keep from audibly portraying your joy.

It startled you slightly when he replied in moments, asking simply, "When are you joining up?"

"I fly into Detroit in three weeks to sign the contract!" you responded, "I can't wait."

Kyle stirred next to you, and inexplicably you dropped your phone hurriedly as if there were any sort of reason to hide the messages. He merely rolled, though, slinging an arm over your waist and burying the side of his face into your pillow before resuming his snores. With the brightness of your screen dimmed significantly, you read Sam's latest message, "Neither can I! Looking forward to seeing you again."

You didn't even question the fact that his wording had shifted from a group mentality to only include himself. Sending one last message wishing him a good night, you shoved your phone under your pillow and stared up at the ceiling with a smile on your face. Sleep came easily, surprisingly considering all of the excitement coursing through you, and your dreams were full of Greta Van Fleet.

The last thing you felt before you drifted off was the faint buzz of a new message on your phone, and Kyle rolling away from you again.

TAGLIST! @caravelstan @tripthelight-fanfic @barbariansgvf @brokenbellz @sing-against-the-sky @stardustdanny @dannythedog @peterr-parkourr @stardust-and-shadows @trafficwasabitch @screechesincoherently @fleetsonfire @honor-gvf if you would like to be tagged, send an ask!

[agentmothman18]

YouTube Zombie AU

I have no life-

When the first out break came, thousands had been infected with the disease. If it could even be considered that. Jack, who had been staying over at Felix's house that weekend, was mortified this was actually happening. So was everyone else that got to witness over the television screen. First hand experiences didn't come until the 3rd month for the Irish man, the outbreak only recently spreading across the continent.

Felix was Jacks childhood friend, they didn't grow up together since Felix had to move around a lot. It was mostly a back and forth from Sweden to Ireland for their family. But one the months Felix did come to Ireland, he and Jack would hang out. When Jack got old enough, had a job and a stable income, he would take vacations to go see his Swedish friend. And through Felix he met Marzia, the Swedish mans girlfriend. Jack instantly liked her, he knew the woman would make Felix a better man in the end and seeing how happy the two were together made him happy.

But when the disease spread to Ireland, where the three had decided to stay for a while, it was like watching flies drop form zapping laps that people hang on their porches. Everyone had been so unprepared, even with the 3 month warnings. Flights out to the nearest base camps left within days, Jack and the couple baring making it on one. It was hard for them, not just leaving home to head to Fort Knox but also to see so many people die. And in such gruesome ways that made his stomach turn just remembering.

'Everything's going to be okay.' He remembered Marzia telling them this. Optimistic that the government would find a cure and fix this mess. When that was brought up though, a couple two rows down form them spoke about how this was God punishing them. That the human race was so messed up that God planned for this to happen to them, to punish them in the nose sadistic was possible. Jack would have applauded the god for its cruel ways, but during the moment that was the last thing he would have thought about. To busy trying to keep up with what was going on during the time.

The base camp didn't last long, maybe a month had went by before things fell apart again. To many people gathered in one area was soon realized to be a horrible idea and those that survived split in different directions. It was during that time that Felix had lost Marzia so the Rotters, both watching in horrified shock as the woman's scream was drowned out by her own blood filling her lungs. Felix would have died there too if Jack hadn't ripped him away from the scene. The Swedish has fought against him, screaming and crying for Jack to leave him with her. It tore Jack apart, his heart breaking for his best friend.

After that, things had been different for the both of them. Felix had shut down, becoming a shell of the happy man he used to be and Jack has toughened up. Maybe not physically, though that did increase too, but now he wasn't scared or felt guilty when it came to shooting the walking dead. Nor living people who wanted to kill them. They both found out the hard way that some survivors turned to cannibalism during this mess of a life time. It was disgusting and something Jack would never stoop so low to.

In the presence of today, it was just Jack and Felix. They've traveled, on foot, from Kentucky all the way to Cheyenne, Wyoming. There were plenty of close calls along the way, both from Rotters and survivors. It left Felix without a working right arm, broken from a scuffle with a beefy man who wanted their guns. Jack felt bad he couldn't do more than just align the bone and wrap it, they didn't have pain medication or even the right material to keep the bone from slipping out of place and healing wrongly. "We should rest." Jack said, glancing to his broken watch for the millionth time. It stopped working back in Missouri, so they couldn't tell the time other then looking at where the sun was in the sky. So with a sigh of slight annoyance, jack glanced to the orange-ing sky.

"We can't until we find cover." Felix let out a hiss of pain when he moved his broken arm, the makeshift sling was pinching at his skin. Jack hand nodded in agreement, leading them farther down the barren highway. They were surrounded by trees and the occasional car, which they would stop to check for supplies, but no houses to take cover in.

About two more miles of walking, Jacks feet had had enough for the day. They'd been walking since sunrise with breaks only to rest or eat what little they had. "I give up." He kept his voice down, not wanting to catch the attention of any lurking Rotters. "Well just have to settle in a car for the night."

"Or that house." Felix pointed behind Jack, who whipped around fast enough to almost cause himself whiplash. He had been sure moments ago there was no houses near by, now there was one? The lack of food and sleep was really getting to him. But the house was there, just hidden so he wasn't going completely crazy yet.

With a simple nod of the head, they made the short trek to the house. It was an old country looking house, two stories with white chipped paint on the walls. Even a cute wrap around porch, a house you'd see on old country movies. Jack had told Felix to stay outside while he checked the place out, staring with the perimeters of the house before venturing inside. He had checked every nook and cranny by the time he was sure it was safe, poking his head out the door and motioning for Felix to come in.

"We'll head out in the morning." Jack spoke quietly to Felix, who nodded and didn't hesitate to head for one of the upstairs bedrooms. He was exhausted and in pain, Jack couldn't blame him. When there was a definite click of a door shutting upstairs, the Irish man finally moved from his spot at the door. He took the living room couch, wanting to stay on the ground floor in case of an emergency.

And for the better half of the night, things were peaceful and quiet. It wasn't until what felt like 2 in the morning that Jack woke up to the front door creaking open. By now, those that were still surviving have learned that the Rotters were smarter than they once thought. They were evolving, for the worse. So for a door to be opened was nothing to the dead.

As quietly as Jack could, he rolled off the couch and landed on the floor with a soft thud noise. He freaked out for a moment that he had given himself away but the footsteps coming into the house had went for the kitchen. It gave him enough time to get his gun ready in one hand and a knife in the other. A panicky feeling bubbled in his stomach, making his hands shake for a mere seconds before he calmed himself with a deep breath. He cringed at the creaking floor beneath him, cursing when movement in the kitchen ceased for a moment. Then, he heard voices.

Quiet voices but ones to set him on edge just as bad as the Rotters screaming. "Just get the food and go." A deep voice, smooth and commanding had spoke. Jack felt a little at easy that they weren't interested in them but that didn't mean he was going to let them leave with their food. So, against better judgment Jack had pushed the kitchen door open with his knife hand.

"You're not taking anything." His voice was monotoned, no emotions held in it thanks to the months of hell. Though just a quickly a light had blinded him and there was a click of a gun being cocked ready for its first shot.

"Look, we're not looking for trouble." Another male voice had spoke out, less deep than the first one but almost sounding apologetic. "We just need a bit of food and we'll leave." Jack squinted against the blinding light, moving to the side to get out of its way. The movement didn't cause any problems thankfully, and he had hesitantly lowered his gun. Jack was still a kind person at heart, even if this new world has made him cold.

The light was shinned up towards the ceiling, providing light for the whole room. Jack could finally get a good look at the two, one wearing a mask with a straight line for a mouth and two dots as the eyes. The other had the being of a bread growing, it was kept trimmed though and complimented the mans features. Something about the pair seemed different than most survivors they'd come across. Less aggressive was one thing for sure, but there was a feeling in Jacks gut that told him he could trust them. A bubbling feeling that felt almost comfortable.

"How much food do you have?" Jack asked, putting his gun in its holder on his hip and the knife back in his boot. And to his surprise, the two took their backpacks off and emptied them on the table. There was barely anything; two bottles of waters, three cans of soup, and two packs of those cheesy cracker things. Felix and him didn't have much but they at least had way more than these two. There was also a few guns that clanked down onto the table after falling out, no bullets though he realized. "Damn." He mumbled, his tone sympathetic.

"Most the gas stations on this stretch have been whipped clean." The man without the mask spoke, he looked exhausted in the dim lighting. "If you keep heading northwest on this road you'll be dead in a day. Rotters are crawling around about two miles up." He informed, much needed information considering that was where him and Felix were heading.

"Thanks for the heads up." Jack gave a simple nod with his thanks. "Where are you two headed?" He asked, heading to the cabinets to grab spare food.

"Kentucky." The other had spoke, voice slightly muffled by the mask. Jack cringed at the mention of that place, bad memories surfacing. Grabbing 4 cans of soup and two bottles of water, Jack turned and set it on the table with their stuff.

"If you're headed for Fort Knox, it's a bust. Place got overran with Rotters about two or three months ago." He told them, most his days running together so it was hard to tell how many months it was exactly.

"Well shit." Mr. No-mask groaned, a hand running over his face. "Then I guess we're headed no where." He sighed out, glancing to his masked friend. Jack watched the two, words getting lodged in his throat from trying not to speak them.

"We could head to the NAS down in Meridian." Both Jack and the man without the mask looked to the one with the mask. Jack was dumbfounded, that was months away on foot and for all they knew it was just like Fort Knox. But it there was a chance, for these two at least. For him and Felix, they refused to go anywhere with many survivors. Not after what happened last time.

"To far away. I'd rather die by Rotters than walk that far-"

"What are your names anyway?" Jack cut in, wanting a name to the two he was giving half his food too.

"Oh, my names Mark, this is Cry." Mark had introduced them, motioning to the man with a mask who was Cry. It seemed a little silly to call someone that but he wouldn't say anything about it, some people liked to keep their identity under-wraps even in times like these.

"I'm Jack." There was silence that fell over them for a moment, before the Irish man spoke up again. "If you're not leaving for Meridian, you're welcome to join me and my friend." Jack offered, something he never thought he'd be doing. But four seemed like an okay amount of people to have, more than that was to much.

The two seemed shocked for a moment, looking at each other in a silent conversation. Jack could only keep up with have of it, guessing what they were saying by what he saw Marks facial expressions do. But in the end, they both nodded to each other in their unspoken agreement and turned towards Jack. He was expecting them to decline his offer.

"We're in then."

[sanctamater]

i know i’m not who you expected to see this morning. (wrong blog but from elizabeth 😌)

​  in the early hours, our lady swears she has never seen a dawn like this. the way god paints the sky with his steady hand - crimson and gold and the deepest, purest pink; the way the city seemed to hold its very breath. it's the calm before the storm, isn't it? but then, it's the first time the sainted lady has seen a sunrise outside of comstock house's windows - the first time that both of them have breathed so freely; and our lady thanks god for small miracles. thanks him for the fact they are both alive, thanks him for the fact that elizabeth will be safe, thanks him for the blessing that in the midst of all this bloodshed, her daughter still has hope. sometimes, she thanks him for booker dewitt, too - it's a thought that crosses her mind as she bows her head and clasps her hands together; assumes a penitent’s stance for morning prayer.

  she remembers teaching elizabeth to pray. how they'd knelt in the nursery and repeated words that the prophet had wrote in his own hand. how later, she would watch from the door frame with furrowed brow and crossed arms, trying to ignore the way her insides twisted into knots. a proper patriot - a woman of faith, most blessed in columbia - should have felt pride, to see her daughter speaking to god. to the prophet; to prepare and train her to follow in the way of the lord. looking upon the messiah-girl all those years ago, all our lady had felt was dread. and now? she reverts back to her own childhood. the white washed walls of the church, her grandmother's prayers to god. i thank you, my heavenly father, through jesus christ, your dear son, that you have kept us this night from all harm and danger.

  there comes a creak of door hinges; soft and sure steps that are so like her own - our lady grows forgetful, then; and rises, turns with a smile. ' you should be at rest, dot. ' still her little dot, her dottie, her betsy, her beth - never anything so stiff as elizabeth. never anything so clinical as the lamb. finkton's warehouses may not have provided comfortable sleeping, but she will not complain. every hour of every minute of every day, the distance between them and this city - this hell - grows. soon, she thinks, this will all be some nightmare. and the sainted lady extends a hand, takes elizabeth's in hers and pulls her closer. ' i had agreed to take watch upon first light; and you needn't ever worry about me. ' and she looks up at her - always looking up - and remembers when the opposite was true. when elizabeth had been at her knee and hid behind her skirts; how she'd cradled her face and smoothed her curls and promised herself she would never let the world hurt elizabeth. and i pray that you would keep her this day also from sin and every evil, that all her doings and life may please you.

  elizabeth is tired. exhausted. our lady can see it within her daughter's face that so mirrors her own. she can already see where elizabeth will inherit the same laugh lines, the same gauntness to her face, the dark circles, the beginnings of a hard line to her mouth that does not suit her. her throat feels tight - and in many ways, our lady knows she has failed elizabeth. that all of this has come too late. her hands press upwards, mirroring that same image they had recreated over and over again so carefully - so adoringly - all those years ago; fingers brushing a tangled lock of hair behind her ear, moving to smooth her rumpled, ragged blouse; rearranging her tie, pinning back her skirt. for into your hands, i commend her.

  there are so many things she wants to say. so many things she will never say. her eyes sting, vision blurs - she blames the light. ' dot, will you not watch the sunrise with me? ' there it comes, she thinks; head turning to face the horizon. it's blinding; gold and red and furious. it's beautiful. she will never see another sunrise like this; and her hands reach once more, take elizabeth's, holds on tight. let your holy angel be with her, that the evil foe may have no power over her. ' amen. '

@sylluna / @soaringstill

[captainstevenrogerswrites]

@flamingshieldwrites

The grin that encased his lips was infectious and Steven couldnt help but chuckle "I'll have to whisper it in your ear then when people are around, Mister Stormy Pants" he cupped his face and kissed his lips before spooning him. He loved having him in his arms, this was everything and yes he was being naturally loving and protective towards his fiance and why wouldnt he? He was his whole world.

A sleepy smile caressed his face as he smiled, muzzled his beard against his neck "lets stay in paradise, sleep well babyboy , I love you too." It didnt take long for him to feel the steady breathing of Johnny telling him he was asleep and knowing that settled Steven enough to fall asleep himself.

Nightmares, truth be told he expected to have them haunt him for the rest of his life and the same with Johnny or maybe that was his fear talking. All he knew is he hated how powerless he felt to keep the man he loved safe and all the insecurity was rushed up to the surface thanks to that demon thing. If it wasnt for Lorraine and Ed he was quite certain they'd both be dead. Fortunately, that didnt come to that or them splitting up, in fact it brought them closer together and they were now getting married.

"Do you know why youre here?" He turned around to see his mother standing behind him, holding a single tulip. "Mom?" He sputtered out, blinking his eyes in disbelief "Stevie sweetie, do you know why you're here?" That's why he loved Johnny call him that, how could he have forgotten she had called it him too. His eyes looked around "I dont even know where we are" his eyes fell upon her as he tried to keep it together "Stevie, why are you here? It's not your time".

Perking his brow he stepped forward "what? I'm not dead" his mother smiled and shook her head grabbing his cheeks "my tall boy, but you are, you never made it out of your life. It's all in your head baby. You have to wake up...Stevie wake up!"

His eyes shot open as he felt Johnny jump. His own hands tightening around him. "Johnny?" He cooed, whatever that was unsettled him and it appeared something unsettled Johnny "hey" he huskily whispered , rolling him over, looking down in his eyes, as his fingers stroked soothingly through his hair "there you are " he smiled , nuzzling his beard along his nose "whatever it was I've got you. It's not real and I'm never leaving you" he didnt know how close that sound to his nightmare, wrapping his arms around him he pulled him into his chest "I've got you Johnny".

Looking out onto the balcony, it appeared the sun would rise soon so looked at his fiance and smiled "how about we go for a run? Might even might it worth your wild" he smirked softly, "I'll treat you for breakfast after, if we havent already eaten. What do you say? A run and watching the sunrise before breakfast?".

No Vacancy continued...

@flamingshieldwrites​

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