#time travel noah au

[tdnoah-fanpages]

I drew @eevee-ray Noah, since I found his death quite unique, though I’m not good at drawing water. And I also drew my au for Noah since I haven’t done him in a while. But I hope this is good at least

[nightingale2004]

Teen wolf fancast hcs: for the parents/adults in their teen years

(I was inspired)

Talia Hale

Faceclaim: Ronnie Hawk

Future alpha of the Hale Pack. (Right now, she is an alpha in training)

First daughter of alphas Sandra and Patrick Hale and older sister of Peter Hale

She has the presence of a black cat and guard dog mixed in one

She is very scary and intimidating at first sight, but once you get to know her, she is a puppy

Her family are all werewolves

She and Peter have a typical love-hate sibling relationship

She is very well known in Beacon hills

Talia is extremely blunt and tells it like it is

She has many admirers who are both human and werewolf

She has a small circle of trust, which is Claudia, Peter, Alan Deaton, Deucalion, and James (her future husband)

Is best friends with Claudia and has known each other since they were pups

Has great respect for the Gajos family

Talia is extremely protective

Loves Claudia like a sister

She gets love letters and gifts from James almost every day in her locker

She's a fighter and short tempered

Talia doesn't like Claudia's jeep and tells her constantly that it's a death trap waiting to happen

Whenever Talia has a problem, she immediately goes straight to Claudia

She knows French, polish, and a little Spanish

Hates it when Claudia gives her nicknames but never tells her to stop

☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆○☆○☆

Claudia Gajos

Faceclaim: Mary Mouser

Future emissary for the Hale pack (she is an emissary in training alongside Deaton)

Daughter of Mieczyslaw and Magda Gajos

Claudia's father is Talia's father's emissary and most trusted friend

Claudia's entire family, that is of the Gajos bloodline, has spark magic deep within their veins, but their are also humans in her family as well

Claudia is the female version of her future son Stiles. She has major ADHD and a hyperactive spaz. She is extremely sarcastic to the point where it gets her in trouble. She also trips over air

Claudia is also one of the most loyal and caring people you'll ever meet. She would run through a burning building for the people she loved and would care for them like a mother but also scold them and hit them upside the head for their stupidity

She loves wearing flannels and overalls

Her father gave her Roscoe the jeep on her 15th birthday, and she loves it very much

She has no filter and says what's on her mind a lot

She speaks fluent Polish

She has a polish accent

Whenever she is frustrated or going on a rant, she unconsciously speaks Polish

Claudia calls Talia a lot of nicknames just to tease her, but the one nickname she uses the most for Talia is Sourwolf

Considers herself wise beyond her years and a free spirit

After Claudia's father passed away, Talia was always there for her, along with the rest of the Hale pack

The Hale pack sees Claudia as one of their own

She has a minor crush on Noah Stilinski, which Talia disapproves of, but doesn't say anything

☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆

James Samuel aka future Papa Hale

Faceclaim: Henry Zaga

James is a human in a mixed family full of werewolves and humans

He and Talia's parents arranged a marriage between them to bind their packs together.

When James first met Talia, he immediately fell for her and has tried ever since to win her affection

Speaks fluent Spanish

He is on the Beacon Hills high school wrestling and basketball team

He is the leather jacket king. (He wears leather jackets all the time)

Is the most popular guy at Beacon Hills high and every girl has a crush on him

Everyone in school knows he's trying to court Talia and his teammates often tease him about it

When James is with his friends, he's cool and popular. But whenever he's around Talia and tries to talk to her, he becomes a stuttering, clumsy, lovesick mess, and it becomes hilariously painful to watch

He is a bookworm and loves reading.

He would always leave notes, poems, gifts, and flowers at Talia's locker

Whenever a guy or wolf go near Talia, he gets insanely jealous and plots their death in his mind

Literally worships the ground Talia walks on

He finds Peter a little scary and intimidating. Same thing with Claudia

Despite being human, he can definitely put up a fight

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Noah Stilinski

Faceclaim: Tanner Buchanan

Noah is the son of Elias 'Stiles' Stilinski and Sarah Stilinski

Noah is extremely antisocial and distant with everyone due to his homelife, which has gained him a reputation as the town freak

He's also very socially awkward and doesn't do well with other people

He only has one friend, and that was Rafael McCall, who was also one of the popular guys who was friends with James

Rafael and Noah were decently close but not like Stiles and Scott. The difference was that Rafael and Noah had a mutual interest and respect for one another

Noah and Claudia met in high school when Claudia almost accidentally ran over Noah with her jeep, which she immediately apologized for, and ever since then, their interactions became more frequent

At first, Noah found Claudia weird and a bit annoying. But he then soon started developing a crush on her

Like his future son, Noah always seemed to find himself in the middle of some type of trouble or drama. Most of the time, it's unintentional.

He doesn't know about the supernatural, but he had his fair share of strange and unexplainable encounters

He's a momma's boy

Every time Noah's dad tries to lay a hand on his mom, he would immediately get in between them

He has been kicked out of his house more times than he can count

Whenever he didn't have a place to go, he would usually crash at Rafael's couch

Noah is literally a magnet for trouble, which also gained him the reputation as a troublemaker

He fears Talia

Talia has also made it clear she does not like him or thinks he is worthy enough for Claudia

After he graduates, he plans on heading to basic training for army

Has a love for mysteries and criminal law

Has a mouth on him that gets him in trouble both at home and at school

Gets into A LOT of school fights

Has been punched and kicked more times than he can count, but he gives just as good as he gets

Considers Claudia, Rafael, and Melissa the only real friends he has

When he gets into a fight, most of the time, Rafael and James will join or stop the fight

Is very aggressive and short tempered

He is very private about his personal life

Does not want Claudia anywhere near his dad

Noah was once on thin ice with James because he thought Noah liked Talia instead of Claudia, but they cleared it up, and now they're ok

<_>_<_>_<_>_<_>_<_>_<_>_<_>_<_>_<_>_<_>_<_

Rafael McCall

Faceclaim: Drew Ray Tanner

Rafael is the son of Carmen and Arthur McCall

Rafael is your typical playboy in Beacon Hills High School.

He is also on the wrestling and basketball team

He was a part of James friend group, but he was also close with Noah, but they were just mutual

When I said he was a playboy, he was a PLAYBOY!! He literally slept with a lot of girls in high school, including Melissa

He was also a party animal and would get drunk a lot

Has a very short temper and very aggressive

He likes Melissa and thinks she's cool

He knows about Noah's family and always welcomes him in his home

He thinks Noah's crush on Claudia is adorable but weird at the same time

He thinks Claudia is very strange and Talia is very scarey

Rafael is also a jerk most of the time

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Melissa Delgado

Faceclaim: Inde Navarrette

Melissa is the daughter Annemarie and Ricardo Delgado

Melissa is a very shy and antisocial girl who is also a bit of a nerd

She tends to stay in her own corner

Like Scott, she also worked at the vet clinic as volunteer work

She is very nice, but also very awkward around new people

She and Claudia have talked and are close with each other

Melissa and Rafael have slept together, but when it first started, it was at a bonfire party and she had one drink too many

Melissa and Noah were introduced by Rafael

Melissa noticed Noah showing up to school with bruises and a cut on his neck

So after a while, she offered to fix him up, no questions asked

Scott wasn't actually her first child.

She got pregnant before Scott in her senior year and told Rafael about it as soon as she was sure, but after her first trimester, she had a miscarriage and both Rafael and Noah were there to comfort her

After that, Rafael and Melissa started getting closer

Rafael is a ''little'' jealous of Noah and Melissa interacting a lot

She, Noah, and Talia have been on group dates with Rafael, Claudia, and James. Which were both awkward but fun in the end

《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《

Natalie Martin

Faceclaim: Emily Carey

Natalie is the daughter of Eleanor and George Martin. She is also the older sister to Vivienne Martin

Like Lydia, Natalie was both beauty and brains

Natalie was known in BHH as the second popular girl in school, and some people even expected her and James to be a couple, but his attention laid elsewhere

When she first met Lydia's father and his family, she immediately thought his mother was strange

She has tried getting close with the Hales, but that didn't end well

She is very intelligent and has a high i.q but is completely oblivious to the strangeness of Beacon Hills

One of the many girls Rafael slept with

[lycheeluv]

You know what's a good idea ? A jinjae comic.

[redfurrycat]

Top Gun: Peacock 🤠+🐓= 🦚 [Part 4]

Due to an inexplicable malfunction of the new F-302 fighter-interceptor, Mitchell Nicholas Seresin-Bradshaw, callsign Peacock, travels back to a time when the suicide mission has already occurred, but his parents aren’t together yet.

[There’s some heavy mutual pining going on though.]

🕰️⬅️⬅️🚀⬅️⬅️🦚

Most Daggers –including Rooster and Hangman– are away on a joint exercise with the US Air Force, except for Phoenix and Coyote who remain on base to teach new recruits. That’s why they’re the first ones to be called by the COMPACFLT himself.

He informs them that earlier this day an unknown aircraft has crash-landed on the aircraft carrier under Admiral Rick Hollywood Neven’s command.

The extraordinary likeness to Lt. Jake Hangman Seresin and the fact that the plane is engraved under the name of Lt. Mitchell Seresin-Bradshaw “Peacock” are enough for Admiral Neven to make a direct call to The Iceman and let him deal with that bullshit. [With the promise to tell him everything afterwards, ‘cause they’re all a bunch of gossipers.]

Mitchell then greets the younger version of his g.o.b.s.m.a.c.k.e.d godparents with an enthusiastic ‘Howdy Auntie Nat! Howdy Uncle Jav!’ and proceeds to kiss his auntie’s cheek and to do the very choreographically-complex handshake with his uncle – who does it automatically as it’s the same he does with Jake every day.

 *

[A few days later. Phoenix, Coyote, and Peacock are at the Hard Deck.]

Mitchell has already charmed Penny with a kiss on the back of her hand and is now happily dancing with the other patrons.

Meanwhile Natasha and Javy are supposed to be playing pool, but they can’t help but watch their godson…

Coyote: Can you believe our best friends are responsible for the most adorable and sweetest godson ever? The best parts of Jake with the best Bradshaw attributes. Dude’s a killer.

Phoenix: I’m frankly relieved Mitchell has not inherited our best friends’ dumbassery. After all, minus one dumbass asshole times minus one asshole dumbass equals one positive smart and nice guy. Maths is beautiful that way…

Coyote, snorting and high fiving her: Nice one, Nat. It also means they get their shit together sometimes in the future. I hope it’s soon. ‘Cause I can’t take anymore of their ‘Bradshaw, as I live and breathe’ & ‘Hangman you look *insert suggestive pause* good’ bullshit routine.

Phoenix, groaning:  Right?! I run out of place to mark a cross each time Bradley gives him a once-over and Jake bites his lips with an hungry look. I’m getting so distracted I didn’t see the COMPACFLT entering the class the other day and almost didn’t stand to attention. How embarrassing!

Peacock calls his godparents and asks them to come over and sing the Great Balls of Fire song with him.

Coyote: Think we can interrogate our godson about this 'Finn' guy? Seems to be a recurrent character in his current/future life...

Phoenix: First one to make him spill the beans pays the other's tab?

Coyote: Deal.

*

[Blame the Everybody wants some! movie that I haven’t seen yet, but Mitchell’s Enemy-turned-Crush is based on Tyler Hoechlin’s Glen’s looks – THEIR FREAKING MUSTACHES DRIVE ME CRAZY!]

Here is Finnegan Noah Stilinski-Hale to become a famous baseball player in the future! I still have to think about how they met (or more likely will meet) …

[part 1] - [part 2] - [part 3] - [part 4] - [part 5] - [part 6] - [part 7]

[unconventional-lawnchair]

A Second Chance pt.3 {Blurb}

Poly!Marauders+Lily x Fem!Reader - Zombie Apocalypse Au

Stick Season Noah Kahan

Masterlist

Summary: Reader has sometime with Remus, before she is sent out alone with Sirius}

Cw; Guns, death, zombies go nom nom , a lot of baby talk, cussing, minor character death, Zombie apocalypse typical violence, infants)

a/n- This is totally just filler, but next chapter is going to be very intense, so warning ahead of time

Wc-2464

Amazing People- @mooonyxoxo @sippinpeachtea @amethyistheart @zjasminelouvre3 @idonotknowenglish @le-clair-de-lune @shylahstarzz

You hadn't slept a wink. Still staring out the window with Hermione against your chest. She had fistfuls of your shirt, and you couldn't bring yourself to put her down, far too anxious of what would happen to her. Your mind wandered to the worst but just because you were terrified didn't mean the world stopped turning.

Eventually, Hemione woke up and gave her soft fussy gurgles. You stood up and tried to stay quiet. Lily had laid in the bed last night, and must have fallen asleep with Harry. They were both sleeping soundly, so you didn't want to disturb them. 

If last night had happened any other time, at any other place, with anyone else, you would have kicked them out. Send them straight back to the woods. It was cruel, but you weren't going to keep around people you didn't trust. However, they had Harry and your friends have done dumber things in the past. They seemed like truly good people, that was rare nowadays, and company of your own age wasn't entirely awful. 

Everyone was going through this for the first time. You did know one thing, however, Sirius was not to be trusted to have Hermione’s best interest at heart. 

You went about your routine, making your way to the kitchen, feeding her with what little milk you could find. You don't know much about about babies, again, you used to find them extremely annoying, but you knew that when Mrs. Granger first had Hermione, she could hardly lift her limbs.

Her husband had asked you to scavenge any nuts you could find, specifically almonds or cashews, he said it wasn't ideal but if he could use it with his water supply he could make a suitable replacement until his wife was better. It was crazy to think they were gone. Did they even think that it was a possibility? That you would be looking after their baby girl?

It was life or death in the moment, but they had made a point to involve you from day one. You hadn't been entirely close, but even if they were just a few years older than you, you looked up to them. So much resolve, tenacity, and with a bond you saw in the movies. It's crazy to think you had been traveling with them for two years, and suddenly, they were gone.

Thinking about it now, Mr. Granger made a point of teaching you what he knew, Mrs. Granger had made sure you were the first person Hermione was comfortable being held by at such a young age. For nine months you had to hear the nervous but excited soon to be dad rattle on facts about newborns that you now used day to day. Barty used to joke you were ready for your own, you could still remember the absolutely horrified look Regulus had when the thought of you as a mother came across his mind. Evan’s laughter rang in your ears as you elbowed Barty in the side for the sly comment.

Maybe they did have a feeling. They were always smarter than you.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Hermione give another gurgle, quickly you set the milk down and began to rub her back. You were distracted, again.

Using as little formula as you could with the abomination of handmade nut milk was the most sustainable option. Just three more months and it would be time to worry about getting your hands on mashed food. The stress of it all wasn't necessarily bad, you found yourself waking up every morning with someone to be awake for.

Cooing at her as you swayed around to keep her calm. You had to admit, she was a cute little thing. Even if it wasn't what you wanted, even if you lost the people dearest to you, you wouldn't go back. The idea that any other outcome would have resulted in those monsters getting their hands on her terrified you more than anything.

Those bandits, the so-called “Death Eaters” like some pathetic indie rock band name, were ruthless. They first started appearing about a year ago, they had even attempted to recruit your group. 

Some religious ramblings about the worthy and the righteous, always fell on deaf ears for you. Even then, they seemed particularly insane. Speaking of the rapture and innocence leaving the community around you. That the most dignified should step up and show why they were worthy to be on earth.

That was when, of course, you had just met the group.

You weren't as skilled as you were now, but you had been alone for months when this all started. Trial and error had your best interest at heart, until skill slowly took over. When you met them, you were not the most.. easy person.

As in you stabbed, who you later learned to be Barty, right threw the hand. To your absolute horror he called you hot for it. The damn psycho. You missed him. 

Evan wasn't far behind in thinking you were just the best thing since sliced bread. Maybe it was the change in faces around their boring camp, but you quickly went from some stranger they hunted with, to someone who would pop up at their camp. Eventually, you never left. You made friends with the people there, and being a part of a group made you feel safe since the first time it all happened.

Maybe that was another reason why you were so determined to keep these people around. You wanted nothing more than to be witnessed. 

You were once again rudely snapped from your thoughts at the feeling of being watched. You hated that feeling. You turned to look at the doorway from the hall to the kitchen and locked eyes with that Remus boy. He looked to be sweating, but trying to hide how much pain he was clearly in. He seemed startled to see you, slowly smiling and you nodded to him, turning to look out the window.

He joined you in silence, using two chairs to prop his ankle up above his heart. 

Eventually, he spoke up.

“How did you sleep?” 

“I didn't. Couldn't.” You mused and after a moment of silence you turned to see him again. His eyes were closed but he didn't seem to be dozing. “... did you sleep?”

“Couldn't.” He responded and you nodded. “The pain or your friend?”

“Both.” He mumbled and slowly opened his eyes. “He.. we'd known him since we were 11.” 

He seemed so solemn. It didn't even cross your mind they may have known each other from back before the change. You walked over and took a seat beside him, and he continued. “He was always a bit of an anxious kid, maybe he did some things I need to think twice about but.. I never would of figured him to..” 

“Yeah.” You whispered. “No one wants to think of a friend that way.”

You rolled your tongue. It was hard to hold a conversation, truly. You had been alone for a month, before that you spent two years of your life with people you mostly listened to. 

“So,” Remus began. “If you don't mind me asking, where were you when this all started?”

The question grew worn and weary with each new encounter, gradually losing its significance. It was more common than normal formalities at this point. 

It held a certain importance, though, as it let many saps share their story with another person. It was a way to ensure that, even in your absence, at least one person would know your story. That you weren't lost in this world like the thousands of others who were gone. So, when the inevitable end came, whether in the tearing grip of zombies or other perils that watched you in the tree line, someone would carry your memory until it became their turn.

It just seemed to hit you, everyone in that camp. Regulus, Barty, Evans, the Grangers. Their stories were now all that was left of them. Right.

You hoped to be so lucky to tell Hermione of the heroes her parents were. The lives they saved, including yours and her own. 

“It's a.. long story.” You sighed and he nodded. 

“Is there anything else to do?” Remus offered and you purse your lips. 

“Actually,” You looked out the window and bit your cheek. The sun was rising slowly, you didn't need to be anywhere just yet. “Short version.”

Remus leaned back against his chair and nodded before you took a deep breath.

“My dad, he worked for the military. He used to take me on these hunting trips with his coworkers. These two idiots and a pretty cool veteran.”

“Is that how you shot down that buck?”

“Learned from the best.” You nodded, smiling down at Hermione as you ran your hand soothingly down her back. “My dad and I got into this big fight.” You whispered, smile fading. “I took a hike early to get away from them all. They were being.. men.”

“Men?” Remus smirked.

“Men.” You cheeked. Remus was easy to be playful with. “On my walk, there was this guy. He looked unconscious. It was.. it was a bit jarring. Then when I called for help he got up. He was eating meat of some kind.”

You shuttered as you remembered so clearly the crazed and red faced man looking at you. Like you were his next meal. “And then my dads friend, Mr. Prewett came out of nowhere. He jumped in front of me and this guys just- well.. you can assume what happened. I went back to camp and I told my dad. He panicked and called the sheriff office.” You waved your free hand. “Useless. Eventually, there was this mass panic and people chasing each other. My dad packed up the car and told me to drive. To go home and wait for him and his friends there. He just.. never came back.”

Remus nodded along thoughtfully.

“What of you five?” You asked in kind. He fiddled with his nail. 

“We had just been sent home from boarding school. We were on a train home and suddenly it just stopped.” Refused recounted the horrified screams and the mass panic. Remembering locking their compartment and drawing the curtains. The sounds of tearing and horrified screams etched into his memory.

You winced a bit. “A train?”

“Right? I mean, who starts these things off on a train?”

Okay, that made you laugh. The cheeky bugger. “How did you make it out?”

“Lily broke a window.” 

“That.. makes sense. She seems like she has a thing or two going for her upstairs.”

“Something the other two lack.”

Okay, he was definitely charming too. A sense of humor could go a long way. A comfortable silence settled over you, before you saw how late it was getting. You began to stand and Remus winced as he shifted to look at you. 

“Where are you headed?”

“The spring further down the forest line. It's fresh water and I have an embarrassing purifier.” 

“You're taking her?” 

“...” You usually did take littler Hermione with you, you hated to be so far from the house without her. You knew it would be easier, however, to leave her behind. 

“I-”

“I'll watch her.” Remus offered gently.

Your eyes locked onto his hazels. You searched them with a determined tightness in your chest. Remus had never done anything to make you think he might hurt her. Something about the boy reminded you of safety in its purest form.

But you weren't going to just trust your gut. Not again.

“I'll set her down in the livingroom. If she cries-”

“I'll be here. I promise.” 

You slowly nodded and gave him a brief pained smile. His eyes were soft and so was his curled lips. Showing you a gentleness you only saw after you met the group. It frustrated you to no end, to not understand why your heart was clenching so painful and desperate in your chest at just a look.

You turned sharply and walked into the livingroom, past the sleeping figures to hide her away in the corner as you always did. You made a point to not look at Sirius nor James.

James seemed distraught, holding his curly strands of hair in between his fingers. Eyes bloodshot.

Seems no one slept.

“I am going out, down to the stream. It's a walk, so I'll be back by the time the sun goes down.” You informed them, it felt odd to have someone to report to again.

Walking past them, James suddenly stood up on his feet before he stumbled a bit. “Alone? You're going alone?”

Sirius came to grab his wrist and help him stay up.

You looked back at them with a quizzing look. “Yes. We need water. I figured the idea would make you happy.”

James shook his head. “No- no- water, it's- it's great.” He mumbled and stared at you. His eyes were low and filled with concern. You should have walked away, but he looked like a wounded puppy.

“Is that.. okay, James?” You whispered back. It was hard to stay too stern with him. 

“It is just.. just alone?” He pushed and you slowly crossed your arms.

“I have survived plenty long without-”

“I-I'll go with you! We can be quicker too, I'm pretty strong I-”

“James.” You cut in on his words sharply and his eyebrows pinched together with a sad look. “... yes?”

Merlin, you see why Lily was so taken with him. If the current situation was anything else-

“I will be fine alone.” You insisted before Sirius cleared his throat. 

“You?” You glared at Sirius, this time, unlike yesterday, he didn't shy away. “I'll go with you.”

“No.”

“Can't really stop me, can you?” Sirius mused and picked up James's gun. You glared at him harder and he sighed, handing it back to James. 

“No weapons.” He comprised.

“And you travel ahead of me.” You huffed, the black haired boy slowly smirked. “Darling, I don't have a clue where we're going.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just bloody- follow me then.”

Before he could make another comment you walked to the door and began to leave. James seemed to visually relax, and Sirius hurried after you.

“Don't slow me down.” You warned him, stepping into the porch. The outside was calm and serine, but there was this sinking feeling in your chest that only grew worse as you tried to catch something in the tree line. 

It felt like you were being watched. You hated that feeling.

Your thoughts were suddenly cut out of your mind when you heard Sirius.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

[luvrodite]

JASON X F!READER [12k]

synopsis. the end of the world comes and goes. you’re just trying to survive another day, but you don’t quite expect to become so attached to the green eyed boy who saves you. “i’m here,” he tells you, and a horrible part of you wonders, for how much longer?

warnings. zombie apocalypse in a no capes au, attempted sexual assault, body horror, gore, angst, character death, violence. (if you feel i'm missing any tags, please let me know) sfw but minors and ageless blogs please don't interact with my profile

note. for my sunnie @fic-over-cannon, who always lets me talk her ear off about my jason wips, and without whom i would never have listened to everywhere, everything by noah kahan properly and thought of this fic. you are such a sweetheart and deserve all the good things in the world. unfortunately all i can offer at this time is this fic. i love you, and i'm sorry

additional disclaimer that i am NOT american so i’m talking out of my ass and my expertise is like a six month stint in the midwest please ignore any inaccuracies i’m just a baby

read on ao3 | the playlist

The end of the world comes and goes. 

There is, as with all things, blood and the destruction promised. The end sweeps through the country, burnt buildings and shattered glass that crunches further under your feet. It leaves few survivors, cares not for wealth nor poverty, health nor sickness. All succumb to its touch, and the world you know slips away from your fingertips so violently you can no longer remember what it was like, in the beginning. 

The world ends, but then it doesn’t, really, it doesn’t burn when it should have. You are still here, somehow, aren’t you? (It’s only a matter of time before you aren’t. Only a matter of time before you, too, join the horde.)

You find each other in the wreckage, on the outskirts of the city you’d grown up in. The body in front of you twitches as it falls – only moments ago, inches from your throat – and green eyes assess you coldly, your own tracking his movements with your heart in your throat. Blood stains your hands, and they curl around your weapon when he lowers the barrel of his gun.

What are you even living for? All you know is gone and lost, stolen from you by a drooling maw and ever starving fingers. Blood tracks your every step, a haunting you will never be rid of. Until  your last breath, you will remember it.

You stay by his side, let him offer you a hand out of the rubble and sink your teeth into the tough skin of dried meat he pulls from his pack. It’s a kindness you refuse to leave unpaid. The days turn into weeks, and he doesn’t demand you leave. You aren’t sure when this thing became a partnership. Perhaps when he’d taught you how to wield your weapon better, clumsy movements turning precise, fear hardening a once soft heart.

I’m going to find my brothers. They’re out there somewhere. Over a small fire in an abandoned department store, he tells you this, green eyes flicking over his shoulder to meet yours.

How do you know they’re...

I just do.

Oh.

You coming? Or you got people to –

No. No, I’ll help you.

A nod, then, seals it.

The end of the world brings with it a disconcerting level of silence you find it difficult to grow accustomed to. Your skin crawls at the stillness of it all, the unmoving air of abandoned homes you use as shelter. A city once unrelenting, the echoes of what once was ring in your ears as you traverse through the city. No longer does the smoke catch in your lungs, and the nights are clearer than they ever were, stars shining on a city with no one to look up to them.

You travel out of the city, eventually. The bridges had been the first to go, in the beginning – an act of damnation perceived as absolution. Better to contain it within the island, you think bitterly, to damn the desperate millions who could not seek refuge. Still, you find a way through, travelling on foot through the tunnel they forgot to destroy – filled with stationary cars that prove just as difficult to navigate around as a destroyed bridge. You come out the other side by the skin of your teeth, and the both of you continue.

Do you know where we’re going?

A sharp look, as if questioning your loyalty. Last I heard, they were in Georgia. You getting cold feet?

No.

Then come on. We’re going to lose daylight.

It’s easier, the further you travel into the country. The quiet out here makes sense to you – it had been here long before the beginning of the end, before the beginning of all things. Gotham had never known peace, you think. It was not meant for that, ever moving, ever alive. Out here, there are less of them, too. Very quickly you learn that the end of the world did not kill with it all other vices.

Despite your rationing, despite ransacking what places you can for food, it dwindles down. Maryland, now, you think – you’d passed a sign a few hours back – he’s begun to slow down. His face is pale, but he stubbornly clamps his jaw when you try to get him to eat the last bits of your food. It’s in the middle of this argument, nearing tears and trying to keep quiet, when you’re found.

The trio makes their presence known by the deliberate snap of a branch, and you stiffen, hand flying to your hatchet as you whirl around. Jason moves closer to you, until your shoulders brush.

“You folks look like you could use a good meal.” The one at the front eyes you unabashedly as he says it, eyes trailing down your figure. A prickle of unease runs down your spine, and you shuffle closer to your partner.

“Couldn’t we all?”

He lets out a little laugh, and raises his hands. “You’re trembling, darlin’. Relax, it’s just an offer.” He looks over at your companion. “Your man over there looks like he’s about to fall over.”

It feels like a gut punch, despite his grumbled “I’m fine.” because you know he isn’t. In the end, you ignore the warning in your gut, and you find yourself making camp with them for Jason’s sake. The three men share looks amongst themselves when you shuffle closer to him, but you try your hardest not to pay them any mind, pressing bits of dried meat into trembling hands and watching him until he swallows every last bit. You don’t take a bite of your own soup until they do, relaxing only in the slightest when he seems to have gained back some of his strength.

“Where are y’all headed?” the second of them asks, and his expression rankles you less, so you answer.

“Further south,” you say carefully, looking between the three of them. “And you?”

The first grins at you in a way you think is meant to be charming. “Shit, sweetheart, I’ll go wherever you do.”

You stiffen and he lets out a laugh. “’M only joking, jeez. Going west – they’ve got communities over there.”

You can barely let out a non committal hum. Beside you, Jason’s head presses into your leg, and your gaze slides over to him. In sleep, he looks younger, more like what you think he might’ve looked like before all this. Black curls rest close to his forehead, hair cut close to the scalp courtesy of the scissors you’d found in a gas station a few days ago –

All of it?

All of it. Don’t need it getting caught on something and getting us killed.

Can’t you tie it back?

What, you attached to this look? Knotted hair does it for you?

No. It’s just –

...It’s just hair, kid. C’mon, I’m getting tired.

Fine.

– The group settles into silence after that, and though your lids weigh down, you take watch. The night is quiet for the most part. You’re kept company by the whispering trees and the occasional sound of an owl. Every so often, a branch will pop in the fire, the sound making your limbs stiffen reflexively. Your eyes scan the treeline each time, vigilant. You balance your hatchet across your knees, and wait.

Eventually, black bleeds into the cool blue of dawn and Jason stirs beside you.

“Morning. You didn’t sleep?” You dart a glance over to the three sleeping bodies a few feet away and he presses his lips together in understanding. “Should’ve woke me.”

You shrug, looking away to where daylight breaks through the thick of the trees. “You needed the rest.” And before he can argue back – you can already hear the retort, and you don’t? – you stand up, passing him your axe. There’s a small knife in your shoe, and you don’t intend to go too far, you figure it’ll be fine. “Gonna powder my nose.”

He snorts at the phrasing, and you offer him a tired smile. Relieved that he seems to be in better health today, you step away from the campsite. The breath of air you take is cool in your lungs, and you stretch your arms above your head as you step over rocks and fallen branches.

Relief muddies your senses, you think. You forget to be mindful, forget that this is not just another day, not just a camping trip of sorts. As you pull your jeans up, there’s a rustle nearby and you freeze, hands on the waistband of your pants tightening in unease when someone breaks through the foliage and it isn’t Jason.

“Oh,” he says, stopping short in front of you. There’s something like surprise in his voice but it feels short of convincing you that he hadn’t meant to find you, the artificial coating of his words doing little to hide the interest in his eyes. “Guess we both had the same idea, huh?”

You wrinkle your nose, taking a step to the side. “Yeah. It’s all yours.”

His hand clamps down on your arm as you go to walk past him and you stiffen. “Whoa, what’s the rush, little lady?”

You grit your teeth, glaring at him. “Can you let go?”

He balks at the look on your face, before his own hardens, lips tugging into a sneer. “You should be a lot nicer, you know. If it weren’t for me, you and your little friend would be dead by now. How about a thank you?”

You consider spitting in his face as you grind out, “Thank you.” Still, he does not let go. “Can I go now?”

He mulls it over, before shaking his head. “Nah. You don’t sound so thankful, let’s try that again.” At the look on your face, which suggests you’d rather die, he grins. It’s a mean thing, eyes glinting as he tugs you closer. Your heart picks up at the proximity, and by your side, your fingers curl into fists. “Or, you could just pay me back proper. How about you put that mouth to use?”

You stay still, frozen as he draws nearer. The stench of his breath makes your stomach turn and suddenly you’re in motion, raising a foot to stamp down on his with all the force you can muster. It takes him by surprise and he yells. You take the advantage to wrench your arm out of his grip, pushing him as he stumbles and booking it through the greenery.

He recovers quickly, if the crashing behind you is anything to go by, bellowing threats. Your arms sting as you push through the foliage instead of carefully stepping through as you had earlier, branches scratching and snapping as you barrel in the direction of the camp. The brush of fingers against your neck makes you scream, loud and high, and you force your legs to carry you faster.

The distance to the campsite isn’t far but every step seems to stretch and time slows with the threat of leaving you disjointed, forever stuck in this moment with hands reaching for you.

You burst into the clearing and bolt to where Jason is. He’s already on his feet and he meets you halfway, standing resolutely in place when you try to push him further away – we need to LEAVE, what are you doing? He steers you behind him when your pursuer breaks through, and you grip the back of his jacket. Still, he refuses to move, an arm stretching behind him to curl towards you protectively.

Your mind seems to black out then, because when you blink, Jason’s hands are hovering over you and there’s an awful amount of blood on them.

“You hurt? Did he touch you?”

Your gaze slides over his shoulder and your stomach begins to turn when you see what’s become of the man. Blood soaks into the earth in copious amounts, another carcass to join the millions. You tremble and he turns your face back to him. His palm is sticky, and the realisation of why brings tears to your eyes. You shudder, stepping closer to him.

“You’re fine,” Jason mutters, breathing hard. He repeats it when you begin to cry in earnest, clutching fistfuls of his shirt. “You’re fine. I got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You learn a few things that day. The first, that he’s not hesitant about taking lives if it means yours are safe. And second, that a horrible, terrible part of you doesn’t feel remorse that he did it.

In the wake of the murder, the fallen man’s companions had fled, unwilling to meet the same fate, and Jason had let them go. You keep to yourselves after that, travelling further south and avoiding the few survivors you do come across. Guilt festers in your stomach when you sneak glimpses of weary faces run haggard, but fear weighs out when you feel the phantom brush of hands on your arm and neck.

Neither of you speak about it beyond the set of the sun that day but it brings about a shift, however miniscule it may be. He’s less willing to let you stray far from his eyesight, now. Sometimes, even with your back turned, you can feel the weight of vigilant eyes on you. But it isn’t only Jason who’s affected by the changes. You linger closer to his side, now, never beyond arm’s reach, never more than a few paces away, unwilling to risk being parted once more.

The spill of blood only brings with it more carnage. It feels rather like a curse when, in the days that follow, only havoc trails after you. Blood in the spaces beneath your nails, blood that pools and darkens in linoleum and hardwood and concrete, blood in your mouth. It clings to you, a stain you’ll never be rid of, no matter how you scrub your skin. The frigid water sticks you like a thousand pins, pinking in the dying light of the day, and still you scrub.

The end of the world doesn’t harden you like you think it’s supposed to. You think maybe if you were idealistic, it would be a kindness, to retain your softness. But it has no place here, meant for a life long gone. For all the precautions you take, the weapons you wield and hide on your person, you still feel like vulnerable prey, the soft belly of your heart exposed. You flinch, you freeze, you–

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He says it quietly, standing at the mouth of the river, behind you. Red lingers in the corner of your vision – his flannel, darkened. You ignore him.

You’ve stripped down to your underclothes and waded in until the water reached the top of your thighs. Your name falls off his lips, and your own press together tightly. Your jaw aches with the weight of all you try to hold back, and it’s only when fingers curl around your elbow gently do you let it out.

The boy pulls you out of the river with all the care of coaxing a wild animal, uncaring of the water that bleeds through his pants. The skies overhead grow darker, the air steadily cooling around the both of you, and yet you remain in place, staring at the place where his hand meets your skin.

There is no trace of what happened, nothing to suggest anything had occurred. Old scars fleck the back of his hands, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt, but his hands are clean. You stare at the lines of him, the bitten nails, the tendons that flex. Hands that had, only hours earlier, killed for you.

“You’re going to get sick if you stay like this,” he says finally, and you let out a breath.

“I can’t wear those,” you whisper and he tips his head.

“There are clothes inside. They’ll probably fit.”

“Okay.”

He tilts his head, and you fall into step with him. His hand drops until it circles your wrist, and you let him pull you forward. There is only silence as you walk through the wood, save for the snap of leaves and sticks beneath your feet, clumsily pushed into your boots. You can feel the water clinging to your underwear, and you can  feel the autumn air cutting you deep.

(You can hear the sound, still, of splitting flesh.)

You return to your camp for the night, stumbling up the rotting porch and entering the cabin. Unseeing eyes trail over the living room, browns and flaking paint quickly disappearing out of sight behind a wall as you’re pulled into the next room.

“Here.”

The Henley thrust into your hands is felted over. You look up and you’ve entered what looks like the main bedroom – perhaps the only one, you think.

Time stands still in here, the air stale and near everything left untouched. The bed remains made, dust lining the window, pale light filtering in through discoloured glass. Perhaps once, you might’ve felt the discomfort of standing in a place that was not yours. Once, your skin might have crawled at the clothing in your hands, the absence of their owner a clear signal of their fate. Now, it’s all you can do to tug the rest of your clothing off and pull it on. A pair of pants are passed to you next, a size too big and settling low on your hips.

Your wet tank top remains slung over the rail of the bed frame, and you watch the water drip out, pooling on the floor. There’s the rustle of clothes behind you, and you wait until he moves back into your line of vision to look up.

In the darkening room, the boy in front of you looks older than he is. The shadows beneath his eyes smudge deeper, the hollow of his cheeks carved. You wonder what you must look like to him, half crazed and yet entirely subdued. Your breaths mingle in the air between your mouths, and you feel, not for the first time, the years you’ve lost and those forced upon you in the last months.

“Good?”

It takes you a moment to register what he’s talking about. His eyes flick down to the clothes on your body, and you nod jerkily. He seems dissatisfied at your answer, turning to rifle through the closet. When he turns back around, it’s with a jacket in his hands that he pulls around your shoulders.

It’s thick, lined with fleece that settles comfortably against your sides. It’s a wonder it hasn’t been ruined and immediately you try to shrug it off. It would fit him better – but he refuses to let you, fingers tightening on the lapels and keeping it tight around you until you settle.

“Going to freeze otherwise,” he mutters.

“What about you?” you ask dully and he shrugs.

“I run warm.” But already, even in the dim light, you can see the pink in his face. The thick sweater he’s stolen out of the closet does little to combat the chill of the water, and you push past him to rummage blindly through it until your fingers come into contact with something soft. The coat you pull out is fraying at the sleeves, loose threads tickling the skin of your wrist, but you push it against his chest anyway. You don’t move until he pulls it on, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“Better get some rest,” he tells you, tilting his chin in the direction of the bed and you nod, only to pause when he goes to turn. Your hand flies out so suddenly you have no time to feel ashamed, only fear at the thought of being left alone.

“Where are you going?”

He blinks. “I’ll take the couch. I’ll hear it if – if something tries to get in.”

��Stay here.” The words are out before you can rein them in, and you aren’t sure you want to, anyway. The bedroom is small, wide enough to fit a dresser, closet and a bed, but it looms outwards threateningly at the suggestion of only housing one occupant. As if on cue, a branch slams against the windowpane and you jerk, fingers tightening on his sleeve. He looks back and forth between the window and the door, and sighs.

When you go to bed an hour later, it’s after he pushes the couch against the front door and moves your things to the bedroom. The bags lay at the foot of his makeshift bed, spare bedding laid down on the floor beside the bed in a mess of blankets. It hardly looks comfortable, but he’s silent as he takes his place amongst them, lying flat on his back. You peer over the edge of the bed to confirm he’s still there. In the dark, it’s difficult to make out his features, but the sight of his body reassures you, the sounds of his breathing guiding you beneath the covers until you’re staring up into the blankness of the ceiling.

“You still awake?” It’s him who breaks the silence a while later, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“Mm. You?”

“Yeah.” A beat, and then he says, “You know it’s not – it isn’t your fault, right?”

Your mind flashes back to the mauve blossoms you’d spotted on his stomach when he’d undressed – the only evidence of your morning.

“I almost got you killed,” you tell him, feeling dread burn in your gut. You see it once more, the horror etched in his features, the thud of a body against his, a drooling maw and rotted limbs outstretched. Your hatchet sinking into a softened skull. “You don’t need to coddle me.”

He lets out a breath. “I’m not.”

“You are. We got lucky.”

“You’re the reason I’m not -” he breaks off, letting out a shaky sigh. It’s the only thing that betrays his fear and your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. “I owe you.”

“You don’t.” Your voice comes out harsh, and you fist the sheets under your fingers, suddenly burning despite the chill in the room. “Don’t say that to me. If you’d died, it would’ve been on my hands. I nearly killed you. Don’t tell me that.”

Your voice rings in the air between you, harsh, before he exhales once more.

“If that’s what you want.” Weary, he settles back into the quiet.

Your eyes burn the longer the silence stretches on, and your throat is uncomfortably thick as you force out the words, “I can’t do it again.”

“I know,” he whispers.

“I’m selfish,” your voice wobbles, but you grit your teeth. Salt tracks a trail down the sides of your face, bleeding into the fabric under your head. “I just can’t. I can’t do it alone. Not again.”

“I’m here,” he tells you, and a horrible part of you wonders, for how much longer?

Outside, the world is still and you’ve never hated silence so much, never longed more for the shriek of a car alarm and drunken arguing. Gotham lies in ruin now, motionless and hundreds of miles behind you. It only seems to grow quieter the further you travel into the country, nought but grassland and the whispers of wind to be heard.

Your hand finds his in the space between you, and it’s only then that sleep finds you.

Autumn storms sweep through the county over the next few days when you leave the cabin, driving you to take up shelter in the loft of an empty barn. Water streams in through a gap in the boards with each burst of wind, whistling echoing in the caverned space. The two of you huddle in the corner, tucked close amongst bales of dried straw and a ratty, threadbare blanket you’d found hanging over one of the stalls. Grey clouds form overhead, thick and visible from the skylights above, and you watch through a window as the grass whips back and forth violently, the entire world awash.

Jason pores over the map you’d snagged, eyes squinting in the dim light to make out the lines. It’s torn in a few places, and an entire section of Eastern Gotham and the surrounding states has bled into an unintelligible mess of ink. He looks up when you shuffle away from the window back to his side.

“If we take this route, it should get us to Georgia quicker,” he tells you, pointing a finger along the line. “We’re gonna need to find a car, though. It’ll make it easier.”

“It’ll be noisy,” you murmur, pressing your cheek into your shoulder and he lets out a breath.

“Yeah. It’s that or we keep walking. We don’t have any other options.”

Water drips in through the ceiling, and you sigh. There’s a thread of steel woven tightly into his voice, desperation that reminds you just why you’re making this journey.

“What were – what are they like?” you ask quietly, pulling your legs close and resting your chin against them. His clothes rustle as he shifts against the wall.

“Annoying,” he tells you, but there’s affection in it, voice teetering on the cusp of grief-stricken. “Before, I couldn’t get a moment of peace without one of them interrupting it, showin’ up at my place and demanding to stay ‘cause they didn’t wanna go home.”

“You didn’t live with them?”

He shakes his head, and something in his eyes shutters, a story you’re not privy to hidden in their tourmaline depths. “Moved out. The two younger ones lived with my old man. My, uh, older brother, lived in Bludhaven, but you wouldn’t even know it, always hanging around mine or my old man’s.”

“I think that’s sweet,” you murmur, and he snorts.

“You would. You’d like him, probably.”

You tilt your head to hide your smile. “We’ll see, I guess.”

He sounds more plaintive than you think he means to when he says, “Yeah.”

Rain slams against the roof, the storm no closer to clearing, and he clears his throat.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“What was it like, y’know, before?” He sounds hesitant, as if the question might hurt somehow. And you suppose it does, in a way, when you think of all that came before, of all that can never be. It will never be as it once was. You hum.

“I don’t know,” you tell him. “I was in college, and then I wasn’t. I thought it was gonna be like that forever, you know, finals and midterms and the break in it all when we went out, even though we had to be up the next morning.”

“You go out a lot?” he asks, curious and you shrug.

“I liked dancing,” you hum, and once more you can feel the heat of a packed room, the floaty feeling of a few drinks and the press of fingertips into your palms, sweet smiles and longing. You let out a laugh, bitter and mournful. “I always said I was too tired and then somehow ended up walking home at 2.”

 “Sounds like you had a good time, at least,” he says, and you catch a hint of envy in his voice.

“Did you not -?”

He lifts a shoulder, hunching forward. “Things got in the way of normal for a long time. By the time it started to settle, I got in a few years before..” He gestures vaguely around you. You nod,

“We’ll find your brothers soon,” you murmur, shoulder pressed against his. Your hand finds his atop the straw, and he doesn’t move away.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tiredly. His temple knocks against yours gently and the two of you sit like that, with his head on your shoulder until the storm passes through.

You think that maybe fortune must be smiling down on you when you find a truck a few miles out from the farm and it lives long enough to carry you to the interstate, where Jason is able to siphon gas from the lineup of abandoned motor vehicles. There’s a moment when you think it might go south, your heart gripping painfully in your chest when a herd passes through just as he gets back into the truck and you have to press down into the footwell of your seat to keep from being spotted. Your fingernails leave dents in the back of Jason’s hand, stretched across the console in danger of being seen to hold onto him. He squeezes yours back intently, green eyes meeting yours from where he’s managed to fold himself beneath the wheel. A finger comes up to his mouth, and you incline your head in the barest of movements.

They pass through, eventually and you find yourself glad for the grime that muddies the windows, making it hard for already decaying eyes to catch sight of a pale arm reaching out to comfort you. You hate that he’s kind, a little. He waits until you’ve caught your breath, letting you hold his hand and press your forehead to the seat until the tremors die down before the two of you shift carefully back into your seats and pull away – mercifully, in the opposite direction of the herd.

You drive for a day and a half, switching every so often and pushing the truck into the cover of the trees when you decide to rest. Dawn comes once more, and the terrible dream continues to prove it is anything but a fiction. There is cruelty in the enduring stillness of the world around you, and you think your heart breaks for the thousandth time when, as you pass a faded billboard sign, you begin to recognise the buildings around you.

Your hand flies to the console, pushing you up from the passenger seat to take a better look out of the windows. Beside you, Jason makes a noise of concern.

“You okay?”

You blink, looking over your shoulder at him before you’re pulled back to the passing playground and a familiar set of swing tires.

“I know where we are,” you tell him, hating the way his eyes soften sympathetically before the words are even out of your mouth to explain. “I used to spend my summers here – look, there.”

He follows the line of your finger to a row of houses, and you have to press your lips together at the wave of nostalgia that washes over you.

You think about a different time, a neighbourhood washed in gold and the roughness of bark beneath your palms. The ghost of a seven year old girl in overalls stares at you as you drive past the corner store, and you remember skinned knees, bare feet on asphalt and the stickiness of ice cream dripping down your wrist. You think of the two boys that had lived three houses down, always arguing, always dragging you to the arcade with them and insisting you play the games with them. You think of barbecues and the smell of charred meat, running around under the spray of a hose and squealing when the older kids jumped into the community pool.

Madison is now broken fences and stains you don’t dare to look at too closely, abandoned tricycles and boarded windows. It’s eerie as you drive through the bones of the suburbs you’d spent your youth in. Not for the first time, grief takes your heart in its hands and squeezes.

You turn your face away from your companion when the tears start, trying to discreetly raise your hand to swipe them away. It’s unfair, that the months have done little to soften the edge of your hurt, that even in the fear you find moments to mourn. Time passes, and your scars remain as fresh as the day the city fell, wounds open for anyone to see.

Jason, though, you never catch his grief, hidden except when the light tilts just so, when he turns and you catch a glimpse of it, like a star winking before it’s gone. You envy it, that he’s able to carry himself – that he’s able to carry you, too.

Sometimes, you wonder if it wouldn’t be better if he’d left you, that first day.

Almost intuitively, his voice draws you from your thoughts, the murmur of your name on his lips as he brushes against your elbow. You blink, and water splashes against your cheeks.

“Pass me the map,” he says, tactful enough not to mention the drying tears on your face when you turn to him. He lifts his chin towards the bag at your feet. “Should be in the front pocket.”

“It’s not there,” you mumble, after rifling around and coming up with nothing. Rooting around the spare t-shirts you’d bundled after a stop at a small boutique – 3 walkers, easy enough to take out except for the one, split second when you’d fumbled with your axe – and the ripening pears you’d salvaged from the farm had brought up nothing, and Jason clicks his tongue when you tell him as much.

“It is,” he insists, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to flick in your direction. “I put it there this morning before we left.”

You frown at him, impatient as you begin to unpack the bag again. “I’m telling you, it isn’t here. Is it in the other one?”

He takes the empty rucksack from you, placing it in his lap and rummaging through it with one hand. You don’t wait for him to realise he’s wrong, twisting in your seat to reach for the other bag in the backseat. Your body blocks the gap above the centre console, and you squeal when Jason swerves a little, your hand flying to grip the headrest of his seat. His hand leaves the bag to snag onto the back of your shirt, the material twisting in his fingers. The metal bars are cool beneath your fingers, and strands of his hair tickle your palms.

“Watch it!” you tell him reproachfully, unzipping the bag as best as you can with one hand. The material proves hard but it eventually gives way, and you grin when  the glossy paper of the map comes into view. “Found it, I told you it wasn’t in there.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, looking away when you settle back into your seat.

That evening, when you make camp, you park the truck and head further into the forest. 15 minutes of walking leads you to a lake, and you grin when you come to a stop near the water, turning excitedly to Jason.

He doesn’t return the enthusiasm, eyes tracking for movement on all sides, but you see the satisfaction in his face when he sets his pack down on the edges of the lake.

“You go wash up first,” he offers, nodding his head. You’re too pleased to argue. His face warms a little, and he turns away. “I’ll keep watch.”

The stones are smooth and rounded, here, and you bite back a swear at the chill when you step in after shucking most of your clothes. It occurs to you, when you wade in about knee deep, that maybe you ought to be a little more concerned about undressing in front of him, but when you glance over your shoulder, Jason’s face is directed firmly away from you. He remains alert, poised to act at any moment, and you let out a little breath, assured in the set of his shoulders.

The water is, mercifully, not too cold. You get used to it after a few seconds, scrubbing your skin as quickly as you can.

“Don’t take too long,” he reminds you, calling over his shoulder but keeping his voice fairly low. “Don’t need you getting sick.”

“I won’t,” you mutter, but you end up lingering a little longer than you ought to, soaking your worn muscles. When you get out the sun has begun its descent in the sky and you quickly pat yourself dry with a spare rag. You take advantage of the afternoon sun to warm yourself on a larger rock as you take up your post, now your turn to keep watch as your companion washes himself off.

“Shit.”

“What is it?” you tense immediately, turning your head in a panic only to find him clutching the sodden material of his shirt. He lifts his eyes to you, and shakes his head. You realise, delayed, that he hasn’t got a shirt on, standing only in his boxers, and you look away, feeling your face warm.

“Can you pass me -”

“Yeah, sorry, got it,” you mumble quickly, leaning for his bag. An undershirt and flannel are retrieved quickly and passed to him with your eyes decisively fixed on the treeline, passing the items behind you until you feel the brush of his fingertips as he takes them from you.

You try not to think about the water pooling in the divots in his skin, or the drops falling from his hair, ink black and curling.

“You sure this water’s safe?” he grumbles, after a while, climbing up onto the rock beside you. The sun is steadily setting, and you need to make camp, but you sit, watching the shadows stretch over the lakeside, orange glowing through the leaves. “I’m not gonna contract a flesh eating disease, or something, right?”

You huff, foot pressing out to kick gently at his ankle. “We swam here all the time, back then. Relax.”

He lets out a little laugh, and you look away when it turns something in your stomach over. It’s a pleasant sound, though one you’ve rarely heard – there isn’t much cause for joy, these days, after all. You turn the sound over in your mind, wondering if this is what it might’ve been like, to be friends in another world. You sneak a look at him through your lashes, and the feeling travels up to sit beneath your ribs, stretching soft like toffee, sticking to all it touches, too sweet a feeling for a world like this one. He leans back on his palms, face relaxed. You could almost pretend, here, that nothing exists beyond the treeline.

“I’m trusting you,” he says lightly, knocking your shoulders.

“I wouldn’t lie to you like that,” you say, and it comes out like a confession. His eyes meet yours, and all that you don’t say, all that you don’t even dare to think, too out of reach and impossible to grasp between your fingertips, lies between you. Jason nods.

“Yeah, I know.”

The cicadas have begun to sing, and he keeps his gaze on you a moment longer before he pushes himself up, holding out a hand.

“C’mon. Gotta make camp, unless you want to freeze tonight.”

You take his hand, pulling yourself to your feet. He squeezes it once, before your hands fall away.

The fire he builds that night is small, stones piled high to surround the flame and keep it from drawing any unwanted attention. You watch him squat, arranging the rocks from your place on a log, leaning closer to the pit and holding your hands out.

“Can I ask a question?”

He hums.

“How do you..” you furrow your brows. “Most people don’t know how to do all this stuff. Were you like, some doomsday nut, or?”

His eyebrows fly into his hairline, a surprised laugh falling from his lips as he turns to you.

“A doomsday nut?” he repeats, amused, and you nudge him with a foot, attempting to unbalance him. Frustratingly, he only grips your ankle to still it. “Come on, tell me.”

He presses his lips to stifle a smile, shaking his head. “My old man was the doomsday nut, not me.”

You incline your head forward. “Really?”

Jason snorts. He pokes at the fire a little, before sighing. “No. I mean, kind of. He was really disciplined about all that self defence shit and being self sufficient. We used to go camping, and he’d make a game of it, a survival exercise, or something. Mostly we were just goofing around, but I guess it was interesting, and I picked up a few things.”

He looks over at you, hesitating, before he elaborates. “He and I, uh, we fell out when I got older. We mended it after a bit, but it wasn’t the same, you know. It’s all gone to shit now, but if I have one thing to remember him by, this is a damn good one, I guess.”

His thumb strokes an arc across your ankle, before he lets it go, turning back to the fire.

“Did..” you trail off, unsure, and he shakes his head.

“Kicked the bucket a few years before all of this.” He stands up, only to deposit himself by your side. “Left a fucking mess behind him, but I’m glad. That it was then, before..”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“It’s not your fault.”

You hum. “I know. I’m still sorry.”

You press closer, resting your cheek against his shoulder. His arm comes around you, after a beat of surprised silence in which you worry you’ve overstepped, and he leans against you. The flames flicker and burn, the cicadas sing and Jason does not move.

When you wake the next morning he’s lying on his side and both your hands rest in the space between you, fingers curled and knuckles pressed against each other.

It feels like the flicker of something new. Something is forged in the earth where your hands lie, weaving your palms together, an invisible thread that ties you. His eyes flutter open a few moments after yours, and in the early light of the morning, you know you aren’t the only one who recognises it.

But there is a bigger sky over your heads, one that presses the urgency of your journey, one that has no time to address the curling in your gut or the gentleness of his fingers as they brush dirt from your jaw.

Time, time, time. You return to the truck wishing for more of it, for more spaces in between.

The road is bumpier when you return to it, and you follow the map in silence, navigating carefully around the rare lone walker.

Georgia comes faster, then, and you feel the stirrings of fear as the distance to where you’re headed, noted on faded boards, grows smaller and smaller. Jason grows tenser, too, answers short and distracted. The possibility hangs heavy in the air – of what might await you. His fingers curl into fists, and he presses his knuckles to his mouth as you drive past the first sign –

Welcome to Georgia! The Peach State.

You don’t dare to speak when he tells you to pull over, climbing into the passenger seat wordlessly. He drives slowly, and your nails dig into the fabric of your jeans when the car slows down and he mutters to you,

“We’ll walk it from here. We know where the car is, if–” he stops short, and reaches over the console to grab his pack from the backseat. You nod, biting your cheek and he looks over at you in confirmation, pausing only when he catches your obvious apprehension.

He takes a breath, and extends a hand.

“You trust me?” he asks, and you nod.

“I do.”

“I’ll keep you safe,” he presses, intent, and you nod.

“I’ve got your back, too,” you whisper, and he leans forward to knock your forehead against his.

“Let’s go.”

There is a part of you that knows you will not return to the truck – that leaving will forever alter the course of your journey. Safety is not something you can guarantee, but intuitively, you know this: the moment you close the car door, you seal your fate. This knowledge is something you know, yet are blind to, unwilling to face it, unwilling to shirk your post at his back, unwilling to abandon him now. You are at a crossroads. He will not stay a moment longer from his brothers, and you – 

You  will not leave his side.

In the end, of course, you follow.

You are tethered, caught in his orbit and unwilling to let go – he is loath to let you, but you know he would. You’ve seen the hesitance in his eyes, the silent debate of whether he should have brought you into this, if you’d be better off without him. If you asked him to let you go, you think he would.

You follow him, eyes alert and shoulders tense. The path to the bunker is a difficult one, overturned branches and muddied with fallen leaves. Once, twice, a few times, you cut down the walkers that stray into your path. The sound of a splitting skull makes your stomach turn every time, and you bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood, in an effort to keep from screaming when you strike.

Each time, Jason pauses to inspect their rotted faces, and you wait in apprehensive silence. Stranger. Stranger. Stranger. With each that proves to keep the chance of his brothers being alive, his face grows harder, fingers twisting around his machete.

Dread creeps up on you as the sun begins its descent in the sky, and you draw upon the outer perimeter of the place he’d detailed to you in the car.

He told me – gave me the directions to a bunker. It’s pretty deep in the woods, but he said it was secure. They’ve got some sort of system in place, so it doesn’t go down easy.

You begin to see what sort of system exactly it is, wooden spikes boring up from the ground to act as a fence. Already, a few remain impaled, their gurgling making you flinch as you pass by. A pair of heavy metal doors act as the only entrance, and you watch Jason come to a stop in front of them, hands trembling by his side.

He takes a breath.

You grip your axe.

He bangs on the door.

There is a split second, right before the door opens and a gun presses to his head, where Jason looks over at you. The face that peers through is not, judging from the mistrust on the man’s face, his brother. A large scar runs down the side of his face, red hair dry and thinning. He’s much older than the both of you – and stockier. In a fight, you don’t know that the both of you could overpower him.

“I’m looking for Grayson,” Jason spits, unrepentant and unmoving in the face of the metal digging into his forehead. Your throat closes over and you find it difficult to breathe when a cloudy eye trails over his shoulder to fix on you. “She’s with me. And he’s expecting me.”

You anticipate the words before he delivers them. You see it in the way his face eases ever so slightly, as if he’s established you aren’t a threat, though his grip on the gun doesn’t waver. You see it in the pikes propped up beyond the fence, small boards attached with writing you can’t make out – you know it in the drop of your gut, though, the loss of balance as the world seems to swim before you. You know what those are, and you know the words before he says them.

“Grayson ain’t here, kid.”

Jason stiffens, and you taste blood. The walkers nearby gurgle louder, likely catching the scent of your bitten tongue, your grief palpable in the air.

“What the fuck do you mean,” Jason says lowly, and you want to reach for him, but you’re too aware of how anything could change in a split second. “He told me he was here – how the fuck do you think I found this place, huh?”

“Jason,” you whisper and the red haired man cuts you a sharp look.

“Grayson,” he bites out, clearly agitated. “Drake. Wayne. ‘S who you’re here for, ain’t it?”

Each name he drops makes the hair on the back of your neck raise, and you look at Jason – the eerie stillness on his face, not a muscle moving. He’s barely breathing.

“Only me left, man,” he breathes out, weary. Overhead, the trees blot out the sun, so thick it feels as though night has already fallen.

“Are they dead, is that what you’re saying?”

He looks at you then, at the devastation on your face, the grief of another life lost etched into your heart, and he sighs, opening his mouth to answer but before he can, he’s cut off.

“I don’t believe you,” Jason says defiantly, chancing a look over his shoulder at you and back to the man. “You’re lying – there’s something you’re not telling us, look at him.”

And you trust him with your life, he’s kept you safe thus far, so you do look. There’s a nervous twitch of his eye as he begins to protest, and you note the sweat beginning to bead at his hairline, despite the cool evening air.

“Is that true?” you ask, voice trembling. He pales and there’s a moment when you think he might just come clean but it comes too late. Jason, fed up, shoves him, dislodging the gun from his grip and spinning it around to face the other man. You gasp, but it’s already over in a matter of seconds, the tables turned before you can blink.

“Only you, you said,” he breathes out heavily, expression hardening. He lifts the gun to point over his shoulder. “You try anything and unlike you, I won’t hesitate. I’m here for Grayson and you’re going to fucking take me to him.”

Red grits his teeth. “Fine.” He mumbles something under his breath that you strain your ears to catch as you draw closer. “Don’t...warned you, though.”

The bunker is dark as he leads you down a large stretch, your flashlights pointing straight into the black to avoid tripping. You’re aware of your obvious disadvantage – though you might outnumber him, he knows this place far more intimately – and it makes you wary as you step through. When the hallway finally opens out, it’s into a wider, caverned space, and you descend a set of stairs into a small atrium of sorts. There is no sign of any other occupants – nothing scattered across the large tables joined together to meet in the middle, chairs left firmly pushed in.

Your gut curls as he leads you through the bunker, and you draw closer to Jason. His hand reaches out to brush against yours briefly, before withdrawing. Once more, you reach a set of stairs and begin the ascent. Another exit, you note.

Twilight outside slips through when he opens the door and with it, the scent of something immeasurably wrong. You go to clutch the hem of Jason’s shirt, panic spiking in your veins, but he’s just out of reach, already stepping through. Against your will, you are tugged forward, as if a marionette on strings. The smell reaches you before you’re even out the door, and you retch when your eyes fall on what he’s brought you to.

Red is breathing hard, glancing between the both of you, unaware of just how precariously his life hangs in the balance now.

Looking at what he’s brought you before, you can’t find any pity for him.

Jason makes a strangled noise, and your own face is warm, the slide of tears dripping into the earth beneath you. Once more, you find a spiked fence, once more you find bodies speared. All strangers to you. To Jason –

There are echoes of a handsome face in the rotted visage of a nearby undead. Milky eyes stare hungrily when he draws closer, clamoured breaths fogging in the air in front of him, anguished. Red remains forgotten, attention stolen by the groans of what had once been most loved. Jason’s knees give out before him, and he falls forward into the muck, prostrate in grief.

Flanking his sides, two younger bodies – both who receive the same reception. He doesn’t have to say a word. Grayson. Drake. Wayne. The youngest, no older than 16, bears the worst injuries compared to his counterparts. Grief rolls in through you, and overhead there is a distant rumble of thunder.

You turn, the contents of your empty stomach splattering into the mud at your feet.

The acidity makes your eyes water and when you stand, wiping your mouth, you look to Jason. A new feeling grows within you, the longer you stare at him, a burning in your gut that simmers at the look on his face – too late, too late. One, two, three, all gone, before he could reach them. Worse still, his failure stands before him, a taunt of all that he had done, all that had not been enough.

Red is blurry when you turn your gaze to him, but it doesn’t soften the loathing that floods your being. He stands a few feet away, fidgeting, unsure what to make of this.

“You kept them,” you breathe out and he furrows his brows.

“Huh?”

You tilt your head in the direction of the pikes. There’s a throbbing in your head, and you’re distinctly aware of your hands growing numb. “They were your companions – and you couldn’t even put them to rest. You just left them like this, and for what? To protect yourself?”

Confusion bleeds into irritation. He isn’t forgiving of your tone, contempt in your every syllable.

“Don’t you fucking look at me like that,” he growls. “You don’t get to judge me – I’m doing what I gotta do to make it out here. Everything’s gone to hell and you wanna judge me? No fucking way, lady.”

“Fuck that,” you shoot back, shaking your head. A suppressed sob threatens to rise when you step forward to the pike, and he grows alarmed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Putting them to rest,” you snap, and he lurches forward. He doesn’t get very far, Jason rising from the ground in silence and slamming him in the jaw with the butt of his rifle. He stumbles back, swearing.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” he warns, voice hoarse. Red-rimmed eyes seek yours out and you nod reassuringly.

“I’m okay.” You turn to Red, eyeing him disdainfully. “You can either help me get them down or go back inside, but I’m not leaving them like this.”

He chooses the latter, after some moments of silence, retreating through the doors mumbling under his breath and leaving the two of you alone with his brothers. A light mist has begun to roll in, and it clings to your hair and lashes as you move towards Jason.

He folds into you when you reach him and you stagger to support his weight, a hand resting on the back of his head as he takes a shuddering breath. His face hides in your neck, hands gripping your jacket tightly. You let out a soft sob, clutching him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, lips pressed against his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck,” he gasps, struggling to draw a breath. “Should’ve...’f I’d just fucking stayed...”

“It isn’t your fault,” you plead, but it rings hollowly between you, a feeble consolation that even now does little to free you of your own guilt.

He weeps and the mist turns to a gentle pour, rainwater streaming over your heads and muddying the ground at your feet further. You hold him like that, trembling frames clinging to each other in your shared grief. A second passes, and then another, until you’re unsure how long you’ve remained there. Long enough to grow roots, certainly. It’s difficult to move when you smooth a hand over his rain slicked head, to urge him forward.

“Come on,” you murmur thickly. “We have to do right by them.”

His face seizes again painfully, and you fear he might collapse once more. His grief holds him whole as he moves forward, and you flank him as he steps forward.

The youngest goes first, an apology on his lips as he presses the barrel of the rifle against Damian’s forehead. The silencer keeps the shot from ringing out, and his snarling face falls slack in mere seconds, slumping forward. You hold the rifle as he’s lifted; cradled in Jason’s arms, how young he truly was weighs on you, and you turn your face into your shoulder to muffle a cry. Jason places him gently on the ground, and turns back to you. Tim is next, and laid next to Damian. Jason lingers by his side, a hand cradling his head, and you feel, not for the first time, like a stranger bearing witness to something sacred, like you’ve stumbled across something not meant for your eyes.

All that’s left of their family are the two eldest, now, and Jason stands before the being that had once been his older brother. Dick Grayson leans forward, drooling and he doesn’t flinch, despite the rotted fingernails stretching out only inches from his face. One step forward, and he too would join them. You wonder if he isn’t half considering it, staring up at him.

“I’m sorry. Dick, I’m sorry, you hear me?” His voice trembles as he hefts the rifle. “You stupid bastard. I told you I was coming. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

There’s a current of betrayal in his words, hurt and grieving. In the dark, it’s hard to make out the expression on his face, but you can hear the hitch in his breath, the strangled sob he tries to bite back at the groan his brother lets out.

“B’s gonna – he’s gonna kick your ass, you know.” He’s gasping the words out, trembling violently and you’re helpless to do anything about it, rooted to the spot. Would that you could carry his burden for him – but it’s his to bear. “You better – fucking give it back. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

The last of his line, an orphan again – you hear Jason shed bitter tears as he shifts his older brother, laying his body beside the others.

He rises, sniffing loudly. The rain has stilled, but the temperature is unforgiving on your dampened skin, you fear the two of you might fall sick if you stay out here any longer. Still, it feels wrong to leave them here.

“Go inside,” Jason instructs, his voice rough. “Gonna get sick, standing around like this.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you refuse. “I’ve got your back. Come on.”

You find a shovel amongst a pile of tools, just outside the door. Within the circle, unwilling to venture beyond the safety of the fence, you dig. The muck makes it difficult, and your arms strain as you sift through the earth. The two of you take turns, and by the time your plot is dug, you’re covered in filth.

Only one grave is dug – “Keep them together,” Jason mumbles tightly and you nod. In your arms, his youngest brother is light. You kneel, lowering him into the ground with a whispered apology of your own. It will never reach the ears it was meant for, but you repeat yourself, and then once more, when the third body is laid down. You make a vow of your own, too, to these three, whose brother might have reached them in time had you been a little faster – had he not been slowed down by you.

I’m sorry, you apologise, thrice over. I’m sorry. I’ll take care of him in your stead.

You climb up, standing beside Jason as the wind begins to howl, a wordless service to the fallen. Bitter, guilty and grieving, the two of you pack the earth over their bodies. Buried, you hope they’re at rest – and hope they’ll forgive you.

It’s only in the late hours of the night that the two of you return through the doors. Red startles awake where he’d been sitting in the atrium when you shuffle in, tracking in mud and grime with you. Bloodshot eyes scrutinise you before he tilts his head. “Shower’s through there. Should be a clean towel in there.”

You tip your head tiredly, and Jason nudges you in the direction of the bathroom. You’re dead on your feet, and more than once you stumble, muscles aching and mind foggy. The cold has begun to set in, and your fingers feel numb from the hours outside.

Jason locks the bathroom door after he steps in with you, scrubbing wearily at his face. He lifts his chin, a silent request for you to go first. You don’t have any time to protest before he drops to sit against the closed toilet lid, eyes closing firmly.

Stiffly, you peel off your mud-stained clothes, stepping into the small stream of water. The warmth takes you by surprise, and Jason lifts his head at the noise you make, finding your gaze in the thin cloud of steam that’s begun to amass in the air.

You okay?

You offer him a nod, and he lowers his head once more.

Neither of you speak, when you leave the bathroom later, about the sniffles you’d been unable to mask under the thin spray of water or the red that rims Jason’s eyes. The only other inhabitant of the bunker has long since retreated to one of the bunks and you curl up in a different room, listening to the tremulous breaths across the room. In the dark, Jason lies in the bunk closest to the door, a chair wedged against the door – just in case.

It’s difficult to sleep, despite the events of the last day. Exhaustion weighs your limbs down, and though you’d scrubbed down every inch of dirt, the grave clings to you still. Beneath closed eyelids you can still see the twist of their faces, of Jason’s when denial had made way for grief, stubborn disbelief swept away by a tidal wave when he’d met milky eyes.

Tears once more. You press your fingertips to your face, shucking the duvet higher up to muffle your breathing.

He hears it anyway. There’s a warmth at your back that you don’t startle at, only shuffling closer to the wall and making room as he slips under the covers with you. Perhaps it’s for your comfort, but you don’t doubt that he seeks it, if only partly, for himself, too. His forehead presses to the back of your head, and arm sliding beneath your neck. You clasp the hand that finds a home over your stomach, turning your head to press your mouth against the skin of his forearm.

Words conjure in your mind and fall short, a static-y mess of jumbled letters. There is nothing to offer him in place of the loss he’s suffered today. Your hands remain empty. Would that you could turn back time. All that could have been taunts you in the darkness beneath your lids.

When you turn to press your face into his neck, settling your weight firmly in his arms, it feels like both a plea and a measly tribute. What is a stranger in the place of three brothers?

When dawn breaks, you are deep beneath the earth. Sunlight does not reach through the walls of the bunker, and so you are disoriented when you wake. It is as dark as when you’d closed your eyes, but you’ve shifted in your sleep, and your bed is missing a body.

Panic seizes you first, and you sit up straight, ripping the covers off. You’re halfway out of bed when you trip over the rucksacks, and the fall startles you enough into realising you aren’t in danger. Much, anyway, you reason when you slink out of the room and find Red in the hallway. He raises a brow at you, and you press your lips tightly together, unwilling to interact with him any more than you have to.

“Your man’s down the end of the hall,” he tells you gruffly, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. You hum indifferently, waiting for him to leave before you start in the direction of the room.

You’re led to another bedroom, larger, with more cots pushed into it. Jason stands in the centre of it, holding a shirt in his hands that you don’t recognise from the contents of his bag. He turns over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps, relaxing when he realises it isn’t Red.

“Hi,” you whisper, lingering at the threshold. The air is still in the room, and you’re hesitant to disturb it. A twitch of his mouth is your answer, a tilt of his head that coaxes you closer.

There’s a scribble of initials on the tag, D.G scrawled over the care instructions. Your fingers curl into a fist at your side, and you turn away, ashamed. It’s hard not to bear this guilt. It lingers with you, clogging your throat at the sight of the few possessions that clutter the room. You don’t have to draw closer to know whose room this had been.

“We’re leaving. I’m not staying here,” Jason says finally, and you turn to look at him. He clutches the shirt in his hand, fingers curling in the blue fabric.

What else is there to say? You go where he does.

“Okay,” you tell him, and only when his shoulders loosen do you realise they’d been tense in the first place, as though he had expected resistance, fearing your denial. “Should I go get our things?”

He shakes his head. “Too late to go anywhere now. We slept through the day.”

How are you up, you wonder, staring at him. How can you continue, how can you move on? But you see it, in the lines of his face, the fragility of his facade. There’s a haunting in his eyes, emerald turned viridian, and his hands tremble in front of him. Barely kept together, there’s a silent plea.

Don’t press. Not now. Now is not the time to break. There will be time to mourn your loss later.

So you don’t ask. You don’t press. You lead him out of that room, away from the ghosts, away from the pencil shavings left undisturbed and a sketchbook that never got to be filled. Another day passes, the first in a world without his brothers. He sleeps in your bed again, and your fingers intertwine in the dark. He presses his cheek against your pillow, and you remain awake until his breathing evens out.

Dawn breaks and you leave with a handful of things shoved into your packs. You don’t tell Red, nor do you care to wake him when you leave.

“Where will we go?” you ask Jason, when you break out of the woods. His face seizes painfully at the reminder that there is nothing to reach now, nobody waiting on the other end to make it worth the pain.

“Anywhere, I guess,” he croaks. He glances over his shoulder doubtfully. “You still with me?”

“I made a promise, didn’t I?” It’s far from what you want to say. But you think he understands, and there’s a hint of gratitude in the crease of his eyes – the time is not now, but not never.

That selfish hope tides you over, tightens your grip on his hand as you step out into the wasteland.

For a long time, the two of you drift. Unmoored, adrift with nowhere to go, you struggle. Days bleed into night, dusk into dawn, rinse and repeat. If you could ever find such a thing, you come closest to finding respite in the thick of the woods. Winter draws closer, closer, and you make your camp where you can find it, hollowed husks of dead trees, cordoning off the area with noise makers before you fall into fitful sleep on a bed of dead, dry leaves.

It’s difficult, grappling with the loss. There are no more moments in between – every breath spent covering as much ground as you can before nightfall and taking turns keeping watch. The cold cuts you deep out here, a knife that whittles you down to the bone. Selfish, you long for the cabin, longing for the stillness, for once. Ever in motion, you don’t linger in one place for too long. The woods are thick and you don’t intend to see winter through here.

Jason curls himself even tighter around you now. His body canvasses yours, nose pressed firm into your neck when you sleep. In the early mornings you wake in a vice grip and it becomes impossible to disentangle yourself from him without resorting to waking him, too. Always with a start, thrust violently into consciousness, he opens his eyes, alert. He seeks you out, first, before scanning your surroundings. Only when he’s satisfied there isn’t an active threat does he loosen his grip on you, following to keep guard as you relieve yourself.

He remains closer to your side than ever now, but he couldn’t feel further away.

There is a lifelessness in his eyes that only sparks when you chance upon walkers. Bloodshed sparks his adrenaline, and he takes a long time to come down, breathing heavily and eyes alight with a fire you haven’t seen since then.

Blood, always blood. You track it through the country, soles red. It cakes in your hair and darkens your clothes. This time around, there is no cabin, no wardrobe to replace your clothes. The fleece in your jacket is matted now, Jason’s shredded his further. 

You still with me? Jason asks you one night, when the two of you have curled close to a small fire. Chest at your back, all you can see of him is the white of his fingers, scarred digits curled against your own.

Still here. (Still yours, you think.)

And that is the end of it. You don’t bother with reassurances, not when his palm presses over your heart – he feels it for himself, a vow intact. The cords threading you together are silken, unbowing. As he shadows you, so do you follow in his stead, treading the path after him unthinkingly.

It makes sense, that the end comes soon, once more. 

It’s been a long year, and you’re weary. Down to the bone, you feel it, the heaviness of being. Of continuing, fighting against the grain to survive another day. You’re living on borrowed time and now, more than ever, it becomes apparent to you that it’s begun to run out. Perhaps the clock had started on that first day of it all, when the bridges had fallen. Or had it been when you’d found each other in the destroyed remains of your home city? You think it had been when you’d closed in on Georgia.

Death catches up to you. It had always been in the periphery of your lives, drawing closer with every staggered step, every brush of rotting breath, every encounter that got too close. Now, it drifts in, unbidden.

Bodies litter the forest ground, muddied, rotting. The clearing looks out on a cloudy sky, thick grey hanging low, the promise of a storm.

You and Jason fall last, staggering into the centre of the clearing. The wounds are deep this time, too deep. Copper, and the scent of petrichor. A thick mist that rolls in, a sheath for your bodies, a funeral shroud for a ceremony you won’t see. Side by side, you stare at the sky.

“I’m...” Heavy, gasping breaths. You use the last of your strength to turn your head. Fading green eyes find yours. “I’m...sorry.”

Your own burn with tears, and you brush your fingers against his. “Not your fault.”

Bloody lips press against your own, bitter against your tongue. Hand in yours, Jason goes first. His movements slacken, and then, it is only you. Time, more time. If you’d only had more of it. In the next life, perhaps. Jason goes first and, as you had promised, you follow.

The end of the world comes and goes and then you, too, join the horde.

fin.

i started this during finals season when all i could think about was the horror and tragedy of loving someone doomed to die.

'Do you still believe myths can save you? Foolish creature. Let me be clear: every version of this story ends with you being slaughtered' << this exactly.

anyway this was inspired by everywhere, everything by noah kahan but also, sort of: bones and all, the walking dead, ethel cain and the midwestern gothic ? maybe i'm misusing that term but i mean specifically location wise. the eeriness of how quiet the world would be after its end, how disconcerting it would be when all you knew was Gotham, too, never resting, always in motion. the end comes and you're driven out from a city you longed to leave, but now all you want is to go home.

at so many points throughout writing this, i wanted to keep jason (and reader) alive, even though i knew he was going to die well before i even started writing this. i struggled a lot with sticking to that decision, but i feel like in a lot of my writing i give them happier endings and i wanted to try something newer for a change. i don't think i'm as well versed in this sort of genre, i mostly write light-hearted romance. but i also think there is something beautiful in tragic romances that i don't explore enough. so here is my attempt at this.

anyway. this only makes sense 2 me, probably. i still hope you enjoyed reading it though

[nocofamilyau]

I LOVE UR STUFF OHMYOGD IM UR BIGGEST FAN

1. since its summer do they go on family vacations...

2. how do mikes classmates/the other parentd react to him havinf 2 dads

3. can we see how/why noah and cody decided to adopt mike dave and raj.. like their upbringing..

They don’t do anything too elaborate, maybe the occasional day trip to the woodsy area/lake near where they live, simple lil trips like that, but they’re saving proper vacations for when the boys are all a lil older and money is way easier to keep (that and travelling with a baby, a kid who absolutely loses it at the drop of a hat and another kid who has a complex mental condition kinda sounds like hell, don’t think anyone would come out of that experience happy)

Yea, most of em are cool with it, I mean they live in Canada where they’re much more accepting, they just treat Mike and his parents like any other family (shit, I think some of Mike’s classmates might also have gay parents too…)

This is kinda harder to answer, but you'd think that Noah and Cody (especially Noah) wouldn't really be the type of people to want kids, but plot/au needs to happen so for the sake of it,, I'd say for both they just felt it was just the next natural step in life (it'd also give them something else to focus on instead of the crushing internal turmoil that C-list stardom during your youth brings you). To get more specific, Noah probably already thought about wanting kids when he was still with Emma (and he'd probably be more used to it given he lived with several older siblings, and possibly dealt with multiple younger cousins, nephews and nieces at it too) while Cody would probably want to prove to himself that he's much more capable than his parents (particularly his father) in terms of loving something.

Besides, most of their time as parents has boiled down to 'fuck it, guess we'll do this now'. Like I mentioned this before, but they only wanted to adopt one kid and keep it at one kid in the beginning. And while they (mainly Noah) both wanted kids, it does make sense that they chose to adopt an older kid than raise them right from the start. Like yea this kid may have mental problems but at least we won't have to deal with sleepless nights and no time to ourselves and constant screaming and crying and shitty diapers and all that stuff (and then fucking Dave comes along and just throws a massive curveball into that plan but they got through it the best they could, so much so that they're confident enough to handle ANOTHER baby, or whatever comes over parents to make them want another kid)

[misguidedasgardian]

Wild Cats (Part IX)

IX. The road ahead

MASTERLIST

Summary: You leave Atlanta in hopes of finding refuge, a place to be, to belong

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse AU, living dead, zombies, guts, blood, guns, injures, cannibalism, 

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: Bare it with me, my favorite trope is arranged marriage because I have no idea how to build it up, haha, and Daryl is so complex, but I’m giving it my best shot alright?

You ran out of Atlanta, abandoning like it was riddled with the plague, not that it wasn’t already, but you get the meaning.

You were not going to DC, you were not going to Lake Lanier. 

At least not yet, you were driving Noah to his house first which was on the way to Washington DC, Beth had insisted, You were a big group, you were slower because of it, but all of you were seasoned survivors by now, you were strong together.

You came to know that you had lost Bob, which didn’t personally upset you since you never even spoke to him, but Sasha was terribly sad, as he was her partner, and it was awful to lose someone, whoever that was.

You gathered Gabriel, Michonne, Carl and Judith, and you started your long journey

Usually, it would be like eight hours of driving to DC, but traveling had gotten extremely slow in the apocalypse, especially since most roads were cut. You had barely drove for a couple of hours until you had to stop in a small industrial neighborhood, both because rather the car had decided to stop working and also you needed to change cars and regroup

But the sun was falling over the horizon, so you offered yourself to clear out a bodega nearby, with a couple of floors of offices, more comfortable for sleeping.

“I’ll go with ya”, jumped Daryl, who had barely even looked at you since they rescued Beth. You wanted to say no, that you didn’t need a babysitter

“I’ll go too”, said Rosita, and you were relieved. Something had shifted in the dynamic of that group, Abraham barely spoke, usually he was so driven, but now, since it was revealed that the whole cure thing was a lie, Eugene had an ugly bruise on his face and Abraham sat in the back seat and just looked forwards, didn’t even offer himself to drive.

You and Rosita took the lead while Daryl, behind you, had his crossbow standing in attention. You opened the thick door to the outside to reveal an empty hallway, you took your ax with your left hand and your gun with your right, you had been gifted with being ambidextrous, and you had nurtured it during your time alone.

You knocked on every door, clearing it office by office. 

It wasn’t until you reached the warehouse at the very end of the hallway when the fun began, at least ten walkers came for you as soon as you opened the door.

“Let’s get the party started”, you muttered, Rosita only smirked.

Daryl stood behind you, you felt him shift uncomfortably, as you and Rosita, knife and ax in hand, threw yourself at the walkers

Piercing skulls was more difficult than it seemed, truly. Well, in your experience it really depended on the… state… of the walker you were about to hit.

You drew the first walker blood, as you took the first one out of his undead misery with a swing of your ax, the second one was coming near, so you kicked it, made it stumble back giving you a few moments to take foot and end him too.

At some point this became cathartic. like a relief, you were ending the enemy, fighting the fight, the living VS the dead

You and Rosita fought them all, Daryl ended a couple of them, saying nothing, but you appreciated that he gave you your space to do what you had to do, what you offered yourself to. 

Rosita was badass, she was, her movements were impeccable as she took those walkers out, you exchanged looks and she smiled at you

“Those were some sick moves”, she admitted, “not bad new girl”, you chuckled

“Not so bad yourself Espinosa”, you said back with a wink

Daryl just watched the scene, interested. 

“Should we clean more floors?”, you said

“Damn straight”, she said, “let’s see what else we can find”, she said, after taking a look around, there were only boxes filled with odd metallic pieces you couldn’t recognize. So you moved on from the warehouse, Daryl barely nodded, and followed you like he was your bodyguard

With everything that had happened lately, being saved by Daryl repeatedly and then judged harshly by Carol and him too, you wanted to show what you could do, looking to prove yourself again, but this time, for your own sake, rather than to prove anything to them, if anything, you were annoyed that Daryl was there looking over your shoulder.

You went room by room on the second floor, as usual, you didn’t find anything too exciting. a couple of walkers.

A thing that you never liked to do… was to play detective, to draw a story about who these people were, how did they die if they were alone, you tried not to… look… too much at the scenes. You had seen things, terrible things, that you did not wish to remember right now.

So you tried to separate… walker from person…. they were not people anymore, and that is what you were comfortable with

You took a swing so hard your ax got stuck in the wall, you had to use your leg as leverage to take it out. 

It was a good exercise, you were afraid you were getting out of practice 

You cleaned up every floor, without a single bullet being shot, you took them out one by one.

As you cleared the last office, finding a couple of nice bottles of scotch in what it looked to be the boss’ office 

With complacent smiles and a good bounty you returned to the group after having a couple of swings from the bottle, only Rosita and you, Daryl, denied to take a sip.

You returned and Rick seemed impressed, so they all entered the building you had secured. 

The rest of them were scouting the area, searching specially for gas for the cars. You still had the things you had from your safehouse, so you ate together in a cleared office. 

These moments where odd, dining all together, like a strange family, with lots of uncles, and nephews and nieces

It was odd, but it felt nice.

Then the scotch appeared and they all seemed content, taking drinks, for different reasons…

Many of them celebrated they found Beth and their group was put together again, the others, for sorrows, for the broken promise of a solution to all this madness. Some celebrated that we were fine, and on our path to something better, others tried to drown their fears of the uncertainty of the near future.

But there wasn’t enough buzz for anybody to get really drunk, so after dinner, everybody split up.

Everybody knew what to do for the night, the scavengers looked for useful things around in the small neighborhood, the others prepared for the journey the next day, others set up lookouts points to take guard, Beth and Rick stayed with the kids. 

You felt weary of Rick, and how he treated you so delicately, so, you did what you used to do best, you went to the roof. You were a bit tired after slaying a dozen walkers so, you guessed you could take the first watch from the high point of the area. 

You came out the door of the roof, and you weren’t surprised when you saw Daryl there, you had seen him sneak out of the room when the liquor started pouring 

You were starting to… getting to know him better, he was the guardian of the group, always making sure everyone was safe and fed. You couldn’t sneak up on him, he was already looking at you when you found him.

“You should sleep a bit”, you said softly, he only acknowledged you and nodded, growling a bit. He tended to do a lot of that, just a little rumble, a sound from way inside his throat, but you were learning to interpret them

“What ‘bout ya’?”, he asked

“I have been training myself to sleep at day”, you said, with a soft smile. 

You sat right by his side, completely violating his personal space, but he didn’t seem to mind. It was not that he was paying close attention to what was going on, it was just that he couldn’t sleep. You didn’t say anything, you didn’t speak, you just sat there, breathing softly, looking at the scenery with sharp eyes. He was seated against a big squared vent, close to the edge, so you could see a lot of the area front here, even if you were setting there

You didn’t say anything else.

. . . 

It’s been a while since Daryl felt this peaceful

He felt relaxed, even deep in slumber, when he started to come to his senses, he felt a soft sway, like the one of a boat in a tranquil lagoon with barely any ripples in water. Then, he heard, he felt, your soft breathing, on top of his head, on his forehead, the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the top curve of your breasts, hiding comfortably in your brassier, under your soft looking shirt with a generous V-neck line. He saw your chest, your beautiful skin, how soft it seemed, he wished he could touch it… he tried to look up but the angle didn’t allow him to see your face, so he regained control of his body and he separated himself from you.

There you were, peacefully sleeping as he had been, the sun was already shining softly in the horizon.

When he realized how much he was leaning into you he separated himself from you, and that is what woke you, the lack of the presence of the archer stuck to your side as it was when you finally went to sleep

He couldn’t believe he had lowered his guard like this, and not because he didn’t trust you, but because he was supposed to be on guard, vigilant, taking care of his group

“It’s already morning”, you said groggily

He couldn't believe he had been looking at your cleavage, what was he thinkin?

He couldn't believe he had been looking at you like a deer in headlights since he met you, that he had never felt this comfortable in who knows how long, that he was almost impressed when he saw how you took down those walkers with only your ax, he couldn’t believe he was… feeling this… things… he… he stood up like the floor was lava, like you would burn him

“We gotta go”, he said quickly, you barely nodded, and he left you there, alone.

You didn’t even understand what was going on, but he almost sprinted full speed away from you. 

You stood up, the uncomfortable position you took all night taking a toll on your sore extremities, but to no matter, he was right.

You went down the stairs and found Rick, Carol, Glenn and Maggie, who looked at you and where you had come from. Rick looked at you kind of concerned, Maggie and Glenn with funny faces, entertained, and Carol seemed angry.

“Morning”, you greeted softly, “is everything alright?”

“Except by the fact that Daryl ran off, yes”, said Maggie with a silly smile, you felt your cheeks heated, looking everywhere but at their faces

“We were discussing how to proceed ahead”, said Rick, “with the big group we have”, you nodded and kept walking.

“No luck with more gas?”, you asked, and they shook their heads, “there are other towns nearby”, you said softly.

“Yes, let’s move to the next one”, said Rick, “let’s pack up and go”, he commanded

“I’ll make sure everybody has some place to take provisions, so we can divide the weight”, said Carol.

You walked back where everybody was refreshing themselves, you had found a working bathroom so everybody took turns to freshen up. You had checked the tank upstairs and still was halfway filled with water.

“Where have you been?”, asked Rosita with a smirk

“I slept on the roof, old habits die hard I guess”, you said with a shy smile

“Alooone?”, she tease, but you only shook your head with a smile, and kept moving

Last night meant nothing, you literally just offered your shoulder to sleep on and he accepted, nothing less or nothing more. 

Everybody packed up, and you started moving, leaving the huge fire truck behind.

You started walking North, you were a big group and you felt safe, for the first time in ages, there were no hordes or walkers near and you followed a road up north, a small road, to not draw too much attention to yourselves, from neither the living or dead.

You walked until you saw a sign, saying that you were already in South Carolina, you had left Georgia behind, and your plan to go to Lake Lanier. You don't resent Rick for leading you towards Washington, it was the sanest idea.

You didn’t even know what was there, an old margarita ville, cabins, yachts and a big hotel, it could be a huge bust, right?

So you just went along, is not like you could separate from them and go yourself, you didn’t want to split up, you felt safe with them, you felt like a force of nature, to be reckoned with 

At first, you were walking all together, on a line, as the day progressed you started to separate in groups, some started talking amongst themselves, you got a bit delayed and walked behind them, hand in your holster, ready for everything.

You were guarding them, taking care of them even from a bit afar, so that would give you a bit of perspective for possible dangers.

The sun was burning you from above, right a the center of the sky when you stop for something to eat

You still had bottled water to last you for today and maybe breakfast tomorrow, but no more than that, so you hoped you could find a town for tonight.

RIck looked for you with his eyes, and when he found you, he seemed concerned

“You alright?”, he asked, cradling Judith against his chest, you nodded

“Yeah sure”, you muttered

“I know you believed Lake Lanier was the way to go, but…”

“It's fine Rick”, you said simply, “I was just protecting our backs”, you said with a smile, he nodded placing a hand on your shoulder

“Thank you”, he said

You helped Tyresse, Beth, Carol and Noah to make food for everyone, Daryl set the fire of course and then escaped into the woods, out of sight. 

You baked some canned beans, in cans, and everyone seemed contented, you didn’t have anything better, and there were a lot of you, 

You wondered what happened to all the farm animals… in farms… the dead also ate animals, the fuckers, they were going to eat you too… farms you gathered, were screwed, specially those with small paddocks, nowhere for the animals to run from the dead.

You really wanted some eggs and rice right now, you never liked beans.

You chuckled just thinking about it, oh the things you had to eat now…

“What’s so funny?”, asked Rick, truly interested, you only shook your head

“I was just thinking how I wish I could eat eggs with rice right now, I never liked beans, and then I remembered we are in the middle of the apocalypse”, you laughed, and despite the surreal of the situation, everybody laughed

“I would give everything for some barbecue ribs”, muttered Abraham

“Tacos al pastor”

“A cheeseburger”

“Sushi form that japanese place near my apartment”

“Ceviche”

“Some pizza from Domino’s”

And everybody shared their desired foods, well, except Sasha, she looked utterly horrified by the topic, like she couldn’t believe what you were saying

You continued after that, taking out the fire.

You kept moving.

This time, you wanted to walk back, like you have done, but Daryl, surprisingly, had the same idea, he walked behind the group, and naturally, you started walking together.

“What was your favorite food?”, you asked him softly

“Wha’?”, he asked back

“Back there we all shared what we would like to eat, from before”, you said, “what would be your food?”, you asked softly, he looked back at you quizzically

“What kind of idiot question is tha’?”, you looked down, a bit embarrassed

“Well, just making conversation”, you whispered. an awkward silence stood between you now.

“Roast chicken”, he said then, you looked up at him

“Good choice”, you said, “A classic”, he looked at you, you looked back at him, and he actually smiled softly at you.

You kept walking, in a silence that wasn’t awkward anymore.

@crazyunsexycool

[cessmaga]

time traveler: *kicks a rock

the timeline:

yeah new hairstyle change(?), rex with that hairstyle fits my art style better and much easier to draw

ayo new benrex au!?!? generator ben and rex 10 au???

It just randomly popped into my mind and I have to draw it right away lol

and brainstorming whose character would switch who, and I think I would draw them too, also change some backstories too, idk it's really fun

I was thinking gwen and caesar, noah and kevin, six and max and I'm pretty hesitant to switch bobo and rook, cuz I wanted them to stay the same

maybe some of the cast are staying the same

[nerdraging4point0]

Power Play // Chapter 11 // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, PinV, public adjacent sex, rough sex, minor cnc dynamics, multiple POV, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, aggressive hockey players, possessive male, protective male.

Fanclub: @tearfallpixie @ladyveronikawrites @beaker1636 @missduffsblog @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @rumoured-whispers @sorrowsofsilence @sundamariis @letmeadoreyoux @lilrubles @shilohrosechicken @mysticdoodlez @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @deathblacksmoke @somebodyels3 @missduffsblog

Shout out to @flowery-mess who has been loving this series at every turn! Thank you 🙏

Sarah's POV

We stepped off the bus in Orlando, just outside the towering ice rink, I could smell the muggy salt of the air and the humidity hit me like a truck. The game wasn't for several more hours, but our team's media and PR representatives were already in full swing, eager to capture crucial pre-game moments of the players entering their new territory before they hit the ice.

I hadn't traveled with the team all that often, opting to stay home for most games. But this time, things were changing. The Otters, a newly formed team in the Orlando area, were in need of more players to help build up their roster, and a new nurse position had opened up. It was an opportunity I couldn't pass up, even though I hadn't really told anyone about it, except for Jack. I knew my father would likely try to persuade me to stay by his side, which, if I'm being honest, hadn't been so bad lately. But then there was Noah - the complicated, brooding asshole who had been the source of so much tension and unspoken feelings since the season started. Ever since our stolen moment in the supply room, he had become distant, barely looking at me or speaking to me, and his aggression on the ice at the last game had been more intense than I'd seen in a while. Maybe, I thought, this move to a new team, far away from the drama and the complicated situationship, could be the fresh start I needed, the chance to finally find some clarity and peace, away from the emotional turmoil that had been weighing me down.

As I stepped into the bustling entry dock, I took my spot next to Veronica and Ashley, the public relations manager and our social media extraordinaire. The air was electric with anticipation as the players began to file in, each one acutely aware of the watchful eyes and cameras trained upon them. Ashley was animatedly pointing and leaning in close to her assistant, instructing her on the ideal angles and lighting needed for the best social media shots. From what I could overhear, her assistant would be responsible for capturing the still images while Ashley herself moved in to secure high-quality video footage.

The players, who had endured this routine countless times before, entered the dock with a practiced nonchalance. They moved with an effortless grace, spacing themselves evenly and resisting the urge to hurry through the gauntlet of media attention. It was almost comical to watch these towering, broad-shouldered athletes attempt to affect an air of casual indifference, as if tall, handsome men in tailored three-piece suits strolling through a throng of cameras was an everyday occurrence.

Sanchez was the first to catch my eye as he strode in alone, his left hand casually tucked into the pocket of his sleek gray suit. His dark hair was styled back with a liberal application of gel, giving him a polished, sophisticated look, and his face was clean-shaven, allowing his Rolex to take center stage on his wrist. As he passed our little trio, he turned his head slightly, lowering his sunglasses just enough to lock eyes with me before giving a subtle wink and pushing the frames back up his nose. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his blatant display of cockiness - he was the epitome of an athlete who truly believed he owned the team.

Veronica leaned in close, whispering in my ear with the same tone of disgust that I felt, "He thinks he runs the show, doesn't he?" We watched as the rest of the team filed through, each one distinct in their own way. Ruffilo and Pierce walked side-by-side, engrossed in a deep conversation, while Nick's dark hair was neatly tied back in a clean bun, his charcoal suit devoid of a tie. In contrast, Pierce had opted for a periwinkle suit that perfectly complemented his sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

As McClain and Sanders glided past, their shoulders brushing together in perfect sync, I could barely tear my eyes away from the captivating scene unfolding before me. Noah and Karlsson, the dynamic duo, strolled by playfully shoving one another, their pearly white smiles lighting up the room. I had expected Noah to don a classic black suit, perhaps even mirroring Karlsson's ensemble, but the two had decidedly gone above and beyond for their grand entrance. Noah's lithe frame was impeccably fitted in a rich, wine-colored suit, the three buttons fastened neatly as his black shirt peeked out ever-so-slightly at the collar. In contrast, Jolly's dark navy ensemble was left intentionally unbuttoned, the tails of his jacket open as he casually slid his hands into his pockets, forgoing a tie and leaving the top buttons of his shirt undone for a relaxed, effortless look.

Veronica's sultry voice suddenly broke my train of thought, her bottom lip slipping between her perfectly veneered teeth as a cherry red gloss glistened on her lips. "Now that's a media shot," she purred, her gaze fixed intently on the stylishly dressed players. Grateful for the distraction, I quickly reached for my buzzing phone, relieved to see the number for the Otters medical director displayed on the screen.

The sudden interruption provided the perfect excuse to extricate myself from the uncomfortable situation I had found myself in. Hastily excusing myself, I hurried to answer the call, eager to shift my attention elsewhere. To my pleasant surprise, the caller was none other than the medical director for the Otters, the opposing team we were playing against. "Good afternoon, Ms. Brody," the director greeted me warmly. "We noticed the team arrived safe and well, and I was wondering if you might have time to meet with us now, rather than waiting until our originally scheduled 4 o'clock meeting?"

Without hesitation, I eagerly accepted the invitation, practically sprinting towards the locker rooms as I hung up the phone. Weaving my way through the throngs of players, I made my way down the hallway, following the director's detailed instructions to locate the home team's lounge and the conference room where they awaited me.

Just as I was about to reach my destination, I was stopped in my tracks by the familiar voice of Pierce. "Hey, where are you headed in such a hurry?" he inquired, his brow furrowing with curiosity. Caught off guard, I hastily concocted a flimsy excuse about needing to meet with the medical staff to stay up-to-date on the latest care and treatment protocols. The words felt clumsy and unconvincing as they left my lips, and I could see the skepticism etched across Pierce's face. "Okay, well, make sure you take notes," he replied, a hint of teasing in his tone. "We like having you around, wouldn't want to lose you 'cause of an error or anything."

As I watched him rejoin his teammates, a curious mix of emotions washed over me. Pierce's parting words had struck a chord, leaving me feeling unexpectedly touched. It was the first time I had heard any of the players express that they genuinely enjoyed my presence and valued the work I did. In that moment, I found myself reluctant to continue on to the meeting, my previous eagerness replaced by a newfound hesitation and a desire to linger in the warmth of Pierce's unexpected acknowledgment.

I made my way into the conference room, my palms sweating and heart pounding, I couldn't help but feel completely out of my element. I shook hands with each member present, gave my best smile taking a seat across the table from them. Here I was, a highly qualified and experienced nurse, the panel before me was an intimidating one - a group of stern-faced doctors and athletic trainers, all of them seasoned veterans in their fields. I tried to sit up straight and appear confident, but inside I was a bundle of nerves. What did I have to offer? Sure my academic and rotation skills were some of the best in my class, and I recently had some hockey experience. I had spent years honing my skills, earning certifications and accolades, but now all of that felt inadequate as I faced this daunting interview. The head doctor, a broad-shouldered man with a graying beard, began firing questions at me rapid-fire, grilling me on my experience with athletic injuries, my familiarity with the unique demands placed on professional athletes' bodies, and my ability to think quickly and adapt in high-pressure situations. I did my best to respond articulately, highlighting my extensive trauma training and my calm, level-headed approach even in the most chaotic circumstances. But I could see the skepticism in their eyes - these were people who pushed their bodies to the absolute limit every day, and they needed someone who could keep up.

As the interview progressed, I found myself increasingly unsure of my chances. The team trainer, a stern-faced woman with piercing eyes, seemed particularly unimpressed by my answers. I worried that my personal background with the current team's coach would be seen as a weakness, that they would view me as someone who wouldn’t have gotten the job without her father.

As the interview finally concluded, a sense of dread and self-doubt began to creep over me. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had utterly botched the entire process, completely failing to showcase my true skills and capabilities. All the confidence I had mustered up beforehand had evaporated, replaced by a crippling insecurity that left me longing to retreat back to the familiar comforts of my team. With heavy steps, I made my way through the bustling locker room, bypassing the lively camaraderie and boisterous music that normally would have lifted my spirits. Instead, I felt isolated and out of place, my sole focus being to reach the small, tucked-away office where my dad and Jack were waiting.

The moment I stepped inside, their eyes immediately locked onto me, and I could feel the flush of embarrassment creeping across my cheeks as my glassy eyes betrayed the inner turmoil I was experiencing. My dad, sensing my distress, reached out with a gentle concern, using the childhood nickname he hadn't uttered in years - "Firefly, what's wrong?" I took a deep, steadying breath, struggling to hold back the sniffles that threatened to escape as I recounted the disastrous interview.

"Daddy, don't get mad, but I thought I would be a good fit for the Otters as their head nurse. I had an interview scheduled for four o'clock, but they moved it up to just forty minutes ago. Daddy, it was brutal - I felt so out of my league, and I'm convinced I didn't answer any of the questions right. I feel like I absolutely fucked it up." The words tumbled out, laced with disappointment and self-doubt that I couldn't quite shake.

As Jack quietly excused himself and retreated from the office, shutting the door behind him, I felt tension settling in the air. My father, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation, gently placed the stack of papers he had been reviewing down on the desk before him. Taking a long, steadying breath, he turned to face me, his gaze conveying a mixture of concern and affection. "Is being here so bad?" he asked, the weight of his words hanging heavily between us.

I swallowed hard, my heart racing as I struggled to find the right words. "No, daddy, that's not it," I replied, my voice trembling slightly. "It's just...I'm an adult now, and I don't want people to think that I only got this job because you're my dad. I don't want them to think that, because you're my father, I can get away with whatever I want." The admission spilled forth, my fears and insecurities laid bare before him.

My father's expression softened, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Sweetie, I didn't pick you because you were my daughter, although that would be reason enough," he said, as I wiped the tears from my cheek. "I picked you because your skills were exceptional. I've seen your grades, your clinical evaluations, and I've heard nothing but great things from your professors." He held up a hand, silencing my attempt to argue. "And don't even try to tell me they said those things because I'm your father. I had Jack call, and no one knew you were my daughter when we spoke to them."

Stepping around the desk, my father enveloped me in a warm, comforting embrace, his strong arms offering a sense of security and reassurance. "Sweetie, I'm sure you nailed it. If they extend the offer, I advise you to do what you think is best - stay or go. Either way, your daddy is proud of you." His words, spoken with unwavering conviction, soothed the anxieties that had been weighing so heavily on my mind, and I found myself melting into his embrace, my fears slowly dissipating as I basked in the unconditional love and support of my father.

Noah’s POV

The sweat chills my forehead as we battle in the heat of the game, muscles burning with the exertion. My left calf throbs with a sharp ache - sometime in the first half, my leg had stretched out too far as I dove for the puck, the sudden overextension pulling at the tender muscle. But there's no time to nurse the injury, not when the Otters are pressing us so relentlessly. They may be leading us by a mere two points, but their seamless teamwork and razor-sharp communication puts our own disjointed efforts to shame. Our captain seems disinterested in coordinating the team, preferring to simply bark orders and expect us to fall in line without any real guidance. One small fuck up and he's quick to berate us, his face twisted into a snarl behind the bite guard clenched between his teeth. I can see the tension in every line of his body as he carves furious paths across the ice, desperately trying to regain control of the game - a game that seems to be slipping through his fingers despite his best efforts. The Otters may have the advantage in skill and strategy, but our own internal discord could very well be our downfall if we don't find a way to come together as a cohesive unit, and soon.

Players from both teams converge in a frenzied scrum at the end of the ice, their skates carving up the frozen surface as they jostle and shove for position. The Otters' center and his flanking teammates are locked in a desperate search, their eyes scanning the chaos for any opening, any sliver of space they can exploit to get a shot on goal. In the midst of the melee, McClain is zeroed in, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the puck as if it were a venomous rattlesnake coiled at his feet, ready to strike. I try to keep track of the elusive rubber disc, but in the heat of the moment, Sanchez comes barreling through, shoving past me and nearly knocking me off balance and onto the ice. Just as I regain my footing, Jolly glides up behind me, lending a steadying hand and helping me find my edges again as the players crash violently into the boards, all of them clawing and scraping in a fierce battle for possession of the puck.

The deafening roar of the crowd quickly gives way to a stunned, eerie silence as the sickening sound of the violent collision echoes through the packed arena. It's a chaotic blur of bodies and jerseys as the players collide, limbs tangling together in a violent frenzy. Suddenly, fists are flying and a wooden stick is snapped in half, the pieces clattering to the ice as the referees rush in to try to separate the brawling athletes. Teammates frantically scramble to pull their players back, desperate to deescalate the ugly situation.

"Charlie!" one of the Otters players shouts out in anguish over the panicked screams of the crowd, and as the bodies clear, my eyes catch the horrific sight. The fallen center lies motionless on the ice, his limbs twisted at unnatural, sickening angles. A dark, ominous pool of red is spreading beneath his left arm, the crimson liquid contrasting against the white ice. The crowd watches in a stunned, horrified trance, the only sound a hushed, disbelieving whisper escaping my lips: "Fuck."

The scene was nothing short of harrowing, as all eyes remained fixated on the crumpled, motionless figure lying on the frozen surface. In a frantic blur of movement, the medics rushed to him, their swift actions cutting through the eerie stillness that had descended upon the arena. The spectators, gripped by dread, waited with bated breath.

As the officials carefully surveyed the ice, assessing the aftermath of the recent scuffle, one of the referees suddenly caught sight of something that immediately piqued his interest. Peering down, I noticed a faint trail of red leading away from the Otter's center, the faded lines disappearing beneath the skates of my own teammate. Sanchez, unbothered, stood calmly with his stick resting casually on the frozen surface, his eyes locking momentarily with those of the officiating crew. And with a sickening, almost taunting sneer, he turned and began making a beeline straight for the penalty box.

***

"What the fuck was that, Sanchez?" my accusatory question hung in the air, laced with the bitterness of a game that had slipped through our fingers. The injury earlier had been the turning point, the moment where everything unraveled and our hard-fought efforts came crashing down. With their center replaced, the Otters had seized the momentum, and try as we might, we just couldn't regain footing, sinking deeper into the agony of defeat.

“What the fuck was what, Sebastian?” he growled at me.

Following the end of the game the rest of the team, still clad in their sweat-soaked uniforms, confronted him relentlessly, voices raised in a cacophony of outrage.

"You fucking brutalized him!" one teammate shouted, the accusation hanging heavy in the air as Sanchez, freshly showered and changed, met their gaze with a defiant shrug.

"Did you see me brutalize him?" he sneered, shrugging his shoulders as he drawled, “It was an accident.”

"Bullshit!" Pierce screamed from across the locker room unwilling to accept Sanchez's nonchalant dismissal of the incident that had cost them the game. Faces were ready and adrenaline was high, I was about to pull back and sock my fist into his smug face when coach barreled into the room.

"Sit the fuck down, all of you!" he bellowed, his voice booming through the tense silence. Collectively, we scrambled to obey, eyes locked on the coach as we settled onto the bench. Coach's hands twisted and clenched, his eyes bulging with barely-contained fury. "That was some bullshit out there," he spat, his words laced with venom. "You played like thieves, not like a team at all. This is NOT how I trained you."

Nick, unable to hold his tongue, suddenly blurted out, "It's all Sanchez's fault!" The accusation hung in the air, drawing a swift retort from Sanders. "Coach, I think Sanchez should be in trouble for this, not us!" he countered.

But coach would have none of it, his booming voice silencing the bickering. "I don't want to hear the blame game!" he bellowed, his face flushed a deep crimson. Turning his gaze to Sanchez, his expression hardened. "Sanchez, your playing for this season is under review. Pending Owens' injury assessment."

At the mention of Owens, a hush fell over the team, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily. I could barely choke out the words past the rage in my throat. "How is he?" I asked, my voice trembling. Coach’s expression softened ever so slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features.

“At the moment, can't feel his fingers. Sarah and Leo are helping the nursing team with him before sending him to the hospital.” Coach took a deep shaky breath, “I want everyone to shower, pack up and be ready to go. No talking, I want silence. You are all punished, as of this moment you are no longer an NHL team on the way to winning the cup, you are now a rookie team who could learn some manners through discipline.” he stormed away leaving the rest of us sitting in guilt ridden silence. The air in the locker room was thick with tension and unease as we sat in stunned silence, the weight of Coach's words hanging heavily over us.

My heart raced, adrenaline coursing through my veins, as I stared at the spot where he had stormed out, his booming voice still echoing in my ears. I couldn't believe it - one moment we had been riding high, on the cusp of victory, and the next everything had come crashing down around us. Sanchez gripped his gear bag, tossing it over his shoulder as he left the locker room.

“I hope Sarah and Leo can help him.” Jolly's low, hushed voice carried through the silence.

“She’s good, she’ll figure it out.” My little fox knows her stuff. I had full confidence that she was the one who could uncover the truth. She was sharp, determined, and wouldn't rest until she got to the bottom of this. I knew she had the skills and the drive to dig into Owen's medical report and find the evidence we needed to take down Sanchez.

“We need a new captain.” Nick declared, the team collectively nodding their heads.

“We should take a vote,” Pierce offered “Give it to Coach when we get back to Santa Monica.”

“Sanchez won’t go quietly,” McClain warned.

“We need a solid replacement if we are going to go for that target.”

The debate soured and I drowned out the voices, ignoring it all as we each took our showers. The walk back to the bus, and arriving at the hotel was coated in deadly silence. Jolly and I made it to our room and I tossed my gear off in the corner, Jolly flopped on the bed kicking his shoes off letting them fly across the room. I stared at my bed, hands in my pockets deep in thought. My little fox. I hadn’t seen her, felt her, talked to her in weeks-had I fucked it up? My eyes glanced over at the NDA agreement hidden secretly in my backpack. I didn’t need to read it.

The journey back to the hotel had been cloaked in a stifling silence, the weight of unspoken thoughts and unanswered questions hanging heavy in the air. Reaching the hotel, I tossed my gear aside carelessly, the thud as it hit the floor barely registering. Jolly flung himself onto the bed, kicking off his shoes with a frustrated huff, sending them flying across the room. I stood there, hands jammed deep into my pockets, my gaze fixed on the empty mattress before me. The memory of her - my little fox-lingered, a phantom presence that I hadn't been able to reach in weeks.

Had I truly messed things up this time?

My eyes darted to the backpack where the NDA agreement lay hidden. I had signed it the night I got it. I didn't need to re-read the terms; they were seared into my mind. Now, with Sanchez's unsportsmanlike outburst threatening to bring the relentless media vultures circling our team once more, I knew I would need to rely on that NDA to cover my tracks - and hers. Any hint of scandal, any whisper of impropriety, would no doubt be dredged up and paraded before the world as if our team were some twisted reality TV spectacle. I had to protect myself, had to shield us both from the consequences should our clandestine relationship ever be exposed. That NDA would save me from being fired by the coach, certainly, but it would do nothing to stop him from hating me as her father.

But you know what, I didn’t care anymore.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Island Assistant Noah AU, where Noah got himself eliminated on purpose, but Chris + Chef somehow figure it out... The day after Noah's elimination, everyone is surprised to see that Noah's back... Chris reveals that inside the contestants' contracts: "Anyone who gets eliminated on purpose, will become Chris Mcclean's Assistant."... And Noah has to be decent at his job, or he won't get paid... Noah stays Chris' Assistant all throughout Island, Action and World Tour! 🌎 (I'm sorry if I'm asking this twice; I don't remember asking this!)

OKAY!! SO!!

You did already ask me this and I did have an answer in the works to the original ask, but because Tumblr's mobile app is my number one enemy, I accidentally posted it. So, really, it's super fortunate that you asked this twice!

But! Because I'm a smart cookie, I took some screenshots of what I had typed out in the original post, so I can just re-type it out here and carry on! (I'd post just the screenshots, but they're full of typos because I'm just awful at typing on a phone.)

So, here's my answer:

Yes!! Give me a Noah who thought he was being so sneaky and cunning by intentionally getting himself eliminated, only for it to backfire horrendously!

The producers would've known that the contestants were being sent to Camp Wawanakwa instead of the resort their contract heavily implied they'd be going to, so they would absolutely anticipate at least one of them trying to pull a stunt like Getting Themselves Eliminated Intentionally- either as an act of defiance against the trickery (of Camp Wawanakwa not being what was advertised) or just to be spiteful.

Noah being the one to do so is just happenstance.

(It was more so expected from the likes of Duncan or Izzy, who are outwardly anti-authoritarian and not afraid to confront perceived injustices.)

If I may, I'd suggest having the contract outline that whoever intentionally gets themself eliminated has to work as a base-level intern, and that their "pay" is them working off whatever expenses the show invested into them as a competitor (travel costs, lodging, food, ect.). So Noah ends up stuck in the role of an unpaid intern for however long it takes him to "earn his keep" so to speak. But it's a Sisyphean task, since his debt is ever growing- he's forced to stay at Playa des Losers as an intern, and his daily cost of living is just added to the expenses he needs to work off.

At first, he'd be outright resistant to doing any of his tasks as an intern, because why should he? He didn't ask for the job, he didn't (knowingly) sign up for it either, and it's not like he's gonna be paid for his work. That is, until the producers threaten to pass his debt off to the rest of his family to "pick up his slack"; Noah's not heartless, and he cares a lot about his family, so he concedes to actually doing the work expected of him to save the rest of his brood from having to compensate for his short-sightedness.

(Let's say this turn of event takes about a week, meaning that from the time of his own elimination to the threat to his family's financial wellbeing, only Justin and Katie have been eliminated. Since, at least during Island, it's established that a challenge and subsequent elimination ceremony happens every three days.)

Now, the thing about lazy people- of which Noah undoubtedly is- is that they're downright innovative when it comes to figuring out shortcuts for any type of labour. Now that he's invested in doing his job, Noah uses that big brain of his to quickly figure out how to get all of his allotted tasks for the day completed to near-perfection, in a manner that's both efficient and easy. It gets to the point where he's completing a full day's work in an hour, spending the rest of the day doing what he loves; nothing. The other interns are just as annoyed as they are impressed.

Word quickly gets back to Chris about his miracle intern. But he's either too preoccupied to actually listen to who it is, or no one thinks to explain that his most productive labourer is the ex-competitor he'd contractually conned into the position.

Needless to say, Chris' interest is piqued.

The host issues a request to have the mystery intern shipped out to the island so they can work on the "important stuff" instead of doing menial tasks on the Playa, and is met with staunch refusal on their part. Which is odd, at least to Chris, since the interns send to be far too scared shitless of him (or, more notably, Chef) to ever outright deny a request like that.

It makes more sense when Noah's literally dragged kicking and screaming back to the island. Of course the only person ballsy enough to defy Chris' whims is the same contestant who got himself intentionally eliminated via deliberately pissing off his teammates. But he's back, now, so he might as well be put straight to work! No use in wasting labour, after all.

(Again, this probably happens over the course of a few days at most, since showbusiness is such a hectic and fast-paced line of work, so let's say that Tyler's the only new elimination in this timeframe.)

Again, Noah utilizes his higher-than-average smarts to figure out how to streamline his expected tasks because he's lazy, inadvertently proving himself as a Valuable Asset to both Chris and Chef since he's surprisingly good at what he does (even if what he does is very little by design). Chris is quick to offer Noah an ultimatum; he can either be promoted to being Chris' Personal Assistant, thus meeting the demands of his previous contract (and, of course, entering a new one under different pretences) and finally being paid for his work, or remain as an unpaid intern indefinitely and receive penalisation for his slacking off- since, despite the fact that he's gotten all of his work finished, he's still technically on the clock for the allotted work hours and should be acting as such instead of lazing about.

It's not really much of a choice. Noah reluctantly takes the promotion.

That's how he finds himself in the position we all know and love; Chris' Personal Assistant.

Because of his new promotion, he's expected to be at least within the vicinity of Chris at all (reasonable) times. The problem with that? Chris is hosting the show he got himself eliminated from in the most socially destructive way possible. Noah's now contractually forced to, at the very least, tiptoe around the prior teammates he knowingly and intentionally made hate him and dearly hope they don't notice him.

...Thus begins an AU's worth of shenanigans wherein Noah is desperately trying to fly under everyone's radar as an intern.

(I'd carry on into what he does during Action and World Tour, but this post is already fairly long, so maybe another time?)

[tdnoah-fanpages]

An old memory before the fall…(time travel au)

This is like before he got himself like more into his Research of like time/ dimensional travel so here you go (p.s I can’t draw hands) anyway this is speech below 👇

Izzy: is Noah ok? He seems…distant..?

Owen: ….

[goldielia]

when con met vi

a part of: yeah, i like you au

looking back, connor couldn’t even really recall actually meeting vienna. their moms confirmed it was september 2009 at the playground not far from both their houses, both of them were four years old, but he couldn’t remember exactly how it went.

he thinks she was probably playing soccer because that’s really all she did back then, before she found more friends and before she spent most of her spare time with him. anastasia and noah probably were close by as well, the two only six and nine themselves. the summers-siblings were never far apart when they were younger.

vienna was probably wearing french braids, it was the hairstyle that came to mind first whenever he thought about her, because she loved them. so much that connor had begged her older sister to teach him so he could help braid her hair for her.

maybe there were little bows at the ends, he’d seen many pictures of her when she was young, bows in nearly every hairstyle she wore.

his mom never passed up an opportunity to tell the story about the way he’d came home grinning ear to ear and happily telling everyone who would listen about the girl he played with today. whenever someone would tell the story now, there’d be a pretty pink blush on connors cheeks.

it was pretty telling how infatuated he was with her from the very first second. he hadn’t known he was in love with her for a long time, that’s just something you don’t know at four years old. he did know even back then, though, that he loved spending time with vienna. wanted to be around her and spend time with her all the time.

for a few years they only saw each other during their spare time, spending afternoons and weekends together at the playground or roaming the streets of northern vancouver. they did start attending the same middle school, though, and it sparked a series of studying together and sitting next to each other on bus rides.

it did also start the tradition of staying up together and stargazing. the first time it happened was more or less an accident, vienna had been sitting on the roof of their house, right in front of her bedroom window. it was her favourite place to sit and just think or read or listen to music, she would even study there sometimes but the more books she needed the less it happened.

her mom had asked her about if connor told her what he wanted to do with his hockey, if she knew whether he wanted to move somewhere else to continue to pursue it. it was an innocent question, really. just her mom wanting to know what he’d want to do with his future. it sent vienna for a spiral, though. was he going to move away from vancouver? she was so used to seeing him every day that even summer was hard, when her family would travel europe and his would stay in canada.

he’d come by to hang out but saw her on the roof and redirected from the front door to climbing up the banister and sitting down next to her. they’d talked about what he would do and how they would deal with it until it was dark out and they’d continue to sit and stare up at the stars.

[duckiiieluv]

Hotel Nights & Elevator Rides ★ oneshot

javier escuella (rdr2)

modern!au

summary — Javier Escuella has been your long-term bodyguard while you travel on a fashion campaign. You’re coming back to your hotel room in New York City from a photoshoot after a rough day. He catches you crying.

warnings — angst, substances, weight mentioned, implied fighting, swearing (let me know if i missed any!)

You’ve had an incredibly terrible day. Nothing seems to be going right. You and your boyfriend have been arguing constantly. The pictures from your modeling shoot earlier in the day corrupted as soon as they were put on a hard drive. Oh, and not to mention, Javier has been up your ass about staying safe in the city all day. It’s not like you haven’t been here before. Sure, the streets of New York City can seem overwhelming to anybody who doesn’t know what they’re doing, but this is basically a second home to you.

Slamming through the hotel doors and tears streaming down your face, there’s nothing that sounds better than collapsing into bed and crying all your feelings out. You rush towards the elevator doors, making weak attempts to brush the tears out of your eyes. Your fingers jam into the down arrow on the elevator keypad. As the doors open, you rush inside, not caring about your surroundings.

“Woah, there.” A familiar voice reaches your ears, and as you look up your met with the sight of your bodyguard. Javier. He wears a bemused expression, his lips curled into a smirk. As he takes a moment to really look at you, this expression falls into one of concern. Immediately noticing your state, he reaches out and steadies you with a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Javier,” you whisper. “You really caught me at a bad time,” you offer a half smile while attempting to wipe the tears away from your face. Javier’s face contorts with worry as you brush right by him and into the elevator.

“You don’t say,” he chuckles softly, recognizing the signs of an emotional moment. Javier follows you into the elevator, his expression switching from joking back to concern. He is hot on your heels, stepping right beside you. The only reason he wasn’t by your side when you first entered the hotel is because he was promised that another protection detail would walk you back. “You all right?” he asks, studying your tear-streaked face.

Internally, you groan. You would rather talk about literally anything else than your feelings, but you know that if Javier is ignored, he will press the matter until he gets an answer. “I’m fine,” you reply curtly as you press the floor number ‘17.’ Javier is the only one in here with you and this elevator is excruciatingly slow. You can feel his eyes bore into you, studying and assessing.

“Sure seems like it,” Javier retorts in a dry, sarcastic manner, clearly not buying your response. He leans against the metal rail running the length of the elevator, crossing his arms. His hand tattoos and partially done sleeve are exposed as his sleeves roll up. A moment of silence passes as the elevator moves up slowly before he decides to speak up, his voice a bit softer this time. “What happened? Trouble with Keller?”

Noah Keller is your boyfriend. He runs with some bad people—people that Javier knows and has dealt with before. You can tell he’s just trying to get on your nerves, but you can’t help but notice a little anger and concern seeping through his voice. You roll your eyes, not wanting to talk about it. “When is it not?” you reply as you look down and begin to fumble through your purse. Your hands search pockets and run along the fabric as you finally find it. Your vape. You take a nice, long drag.

He watches as you fumble through your purse before taking out your vape. Javier lets out a small sigh, taking your response as a silent confirmation that you and Keller had indeed had yet another fight. These fights were no secret to him; he had witnessed plenty of them before. He can’t help but raise an eyebrow as you stare blankly at the wall and blow out a puff of smoke. “You know, vaping’s not going to solve anything,” he reminds, still leaning against the wall.

You shoot him a look out of the corner of your eyes as the smoke escapes your lips. “Yeah, but a weed pen might,” you quip. This sudden sharpness comes across as mean, but at the moment, you don’t care much for being nice. You take another drag, trying to use nicotine to escape this situation.

Javier lets out a weary chuckle in response to your sharpness. He can tell that your mood isn’t exactly pleasant, and he’s not surprised. But, hearing you mention a weed pen sets off alarm bells in his head. He was hired to keep you safe, not to let you run off the rails. Of course, he’s heard the rumors and seen the occasional tabloid headline, but he’s never witnessed you actually use one. “Weed now, is it?” he remarks, his tone a mix of surprise and gentle teasing.

“Or cocaine,” you joke. You look towards Javier to see he’s stood up straight now. His expression changes from surprise to downright disapproval. You clearly touched a nerve as Javier takes a step closer to you and snatches your vape from your hands.

“Cocaine?” he exclaims, his eyes widening. “Jesus, you can’t be serious right now. You’re not being serious right now.” He watches you closer, trying to gauge if this is some sort of emotional outburst or if you’re actually thinking of resorting to hard drugs. “Ay dios mío,” he mutters under his breath.

— let me know if you want any headshots with other characters or just some headcanons!! thank u for reading xx ★

[defender-of-jouvente]

HEY!!!!

Apparently this is what we're doing now? Making blogs? Or something. And I don't wanna be left out! So here I am!!!

I'm Isabeau (he/him), ex-defender from Jouvente, currently traveling with the Saviors of Vaugarde. Nice to meet you!

(Could you call this an Isablog....? Hehehe.)

Act Directory

Profile

{Rules/Info Below Cut}

hey! this blog is run by an anonymous user who shall, from here on out, be dubbed "mundie". it uses ze/they/he pronouns, and will occasionally use it/its pronouns for itself. it is a hobbyist roleplayer who tends to go overboard with things, and also has a degree in the arts i guess.

mun is an adult- indeterminate amount of years rp experience yadda yadda yadda. lets get to the meat of things.

this is an isabeau rp blog! while it's still in the early stages, it will have full game spoilers- not to mention the mun will talk ooc with the general regard that it's followers have, in fact, completed the game. please tread with caution if you haven't finished it yet!

(also technically an au)

majority of assets (as well as the game itself) used on this blog are directly from isat and thus made by insertdisc5 unless otherwise stated. things like sprites and portraits may be edited as i see fit.

instances of textboxes are put together in the ISAT Dialogue Maker.

blog tries to remain as accessible as possible, and all images will include ids in alt text (unless I forget). distorted and colored text will have a translation located in the tags. let me know what i can do to make this blog more accessible for you!

Anon: Off. Learn to respect my friends’ time and energy or die by my sword.

Magic!Anon: Currently not allowed, several stashed in inbox.

Interactions: Allowed and welcome! I may not get to every one, for a rainbow variety of reasons I won't get into. I will simply do my best! (Note: You don't have to be in the "group" listed below to interact! Come n hang!)

Plot: Currently in Act 1

Main Group: @a-traveling-star (King), @housemaiden-of-change (Noah), @studies-of-nothing (Nin), @snacksleader (Bonnie), and @loopadoop - check them out to get more context on the main story!

Rules:

No sexual content. Try to keep it PG-13 in that regard. Everything else follows the general standards of the actual game-- things may get heavy, so please take care!

No harassment. I feel like this won't exactly discourage any potential attempts, but its good to set boundaries. If I deem your ask legitimately hurtful I'm just gonna delete/ignore it. This includes transphobia, racism, xenophobia, etc etc.

This blog, as well as it's companion blogs, moves at its own pace. This is largely improv with some minimal planning for structure- we don't have every little thing planned, and we are pretty unfamiliar with each other and still adjusting, so scheduling may be messy. Please don't rush us! This performance is just as much for us as it is for you.

Try to stay on topic! Goofs are welcome, but try not to derail during plot/story heavy moments. Asks may be held in "stasis" until they are relevant if they don't match up with the current goings on.

Spoilers and potentially triggering content will be tagged as such. If you have something you need tagged, shoot me an ask and I'll do my best to cover it.

Joke asks are fine as long as you behave. Me n Isabeau both have thick skin, but try not to push it. I'm not afraid to put my foot down if you make me uncomfortable.

You can talk to the mod/mun, but I may not always respond. If something is surrounded by {} <- these brackets, that's probably me speaking. Remember to address me if you want to actually, like, talk to me. (I often reserve ooc asks for mundays unless its pertinent, so keep this in mind!)

i see you there motherfucker. yeah you. i see you. what are you doing here. i TOLD you there are spoilers dude. hitting you with my broom hitting you with my broom hitting you with my broom h

[leiawritesstories]

That Well Runs Deep

@throneofglassmicrofics July prompt: "horizon"

a completely random addition to The Rancher AU ehehehe!!! inspired by "Cowboys Cry Too" from Kelsea Ballerini & Noah Kahan ;)

word count: 725

warnings: references to bad upbringing, emotions, angst/comfort

enjoy!!!

(also!! @writtenonreceipts happy birthday!!!! all the best to you friend :D)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aelin woke up to bright unfiltered sunlight, rumpled bedsheets, and a distinct lack of her favorite cowboy lying next to her. A quick glance at the clock atop the dresser informed her it was seven-fifteen in the morning, and she relaxed a bit, knowing that Rowan was probably out in the corral with the colts. She pushed herself out of bed, got ready for the day, and headed downstairs to find her travel mug of coffee filled and waiting for her on the kitchen counter, right next to a plain yellow sticky note--the only kind Rowan would buy--that bore a simple Love you, Fireheart.

She smiled as she tucked the note into her wallet, adding another love message to her collection. Her cowboy might be a man of few words, but the ones he gave her were kept close to her heart at all times. Blowing a kiss in the general direction of the corral, Aelin left Rowan's cabin, locked the door, climbed into her car, and drove off towards town. Much as she wanted to throw on jeans and an old t-shirt and watch her cowboy train the colts, she had a diner chain to run.

That evening, as the Wyoming sunset chalked smudges of orange and gold through the scattered clouds, she pulled back up to the cabin and found it...empty.

She glanced at her phone, blinked, and looked at the date again. June 24th.

Oh.

Locking the front door behind her, Aelin jogged back down to her car, pulled out of the gravel driveway, and headed southwest, towards the corner of the ranch that overlooked the river. When the dirt road became too narrow for her car to pass through, she pulled over, parked, and headed down the worn treads of the path on foot. Years of footsteps and horse treads had worn this path into the tall grass, and it was barely visible in the fading evening light. The tracks ended at a section of weathered wooden fencing, and it was atop that row of wide, long-since smoothed fence planks, that Aelin found her cowboy.

Rowan slumped atop the fence, his back half-leaning against one of the vertical support posts, his legs dangling off the fence that separated his ranch from unclaimed territory. The last embers of sunset brushed gently across his weary profile, lighting him and the river below in soft splashes of crimson.

Silently, Aelin climbed up onto the fence beside her cowboy, gently placing one hand on his tattooed right wrist. He didn't move, but as her hand slipped down, his fingers curled around hers. She tucked herself into his side, sliding her free arm around his waist, and his breath came shuddering out in a long, unsteady exhale as his body melted against hers.

"'M'sorry," he whispered, his voice a hollow rasp as the horizon darkened into a spill of blue-black, star-dappled night. He turned his head to meet her gaze, and she freed her hand to reach up and brush away the tears tracked down his tanned cheeks.

"It's not your fault, love," she murmured.

His shoulders shook as he leaned into her soothing touch. "I miss her so much." Twelve years ago to the day, Rowan had lost his mother, who had been the shield between her son and his father's temper.

"I'm sure she's looking down with so much pride in you," Aelin said softly. She nudged Rowan's side, coaxing him to follow her as she climbed off the fence. "She loves you so much, Ro."

"She'd love you just as much, darlin'." He wrapped his arms around Aelin's waist, pulling her close to him as he tipped his head back and gazed into the stars. "Just wish it didn't hurt so much."

Aelin rose up onto her tiptoes and placed a kiss right over Rowan's heartbeat. "I know." She reached up and cupped his jaw, tilting his face back down towards hers. "Cowboys can cry too, y'know."

He sighed heavily, the tension gradually seeping from his body as she held him. Under the cover of the night, she led him down to her car and drove back to his cabin, keeping one hand linked with his, rooting both of them in the security of each other's presence. And he finally fell asleep wrapped in her arms, surrounded by the love she gave him.

~~~

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