#wc overgrowth

[overgrowth-wc]

Snowdrift is new to all of this, ok? It’s not every night you get your full name, and it’s not every night you get a dire warning from your ancestors- with a shady deputy to worry about and everybody starting to look at him like he’s crazy, he’s got a lot going on.

Teasel just wanted to escape some rogues and thought that Windclan territory was the best bet to get out alive. Now she’s stuck with a sullen mentor, three crazy new friends, and a ghost that only seems to know a single word.

Piketail doesn’t fit in very well, but he’s got his mother and his apprentice (and maybe his apprentice’s friends? Maybe?) so he’s fine, thank you very much. Besides, it’s not like he wants more friends- they’re more trouble than they’re worth half the time, anyway. Really.

Briarmask may not be coping with her sister’s death in a “super healthy way”, but by Starclan she is coping. There are mouths to feed and borders to patrol and kits to protect and maybe even conspiracies to deal with- who has time for things like “sleep” and “meals” and “fun” anyway?

It’s four cats against a hidden enemy, which is hard enough on its own, never mind their own lives falling apart.

Prologue: Oaths

THUNDERCLAN: Round one, start

    Softgaze creaked her way down the tunnels that lead to the Moonstone, moving as fast as she could for the sake of the eager apprentice trailing behind her. It had been seven moons since she had taken him under her wing, and she was confident that, should anything happen to her, Thunderclan would be safe in his paws- it was time for him to receive his full name. Her ears twitched as she heard little Splashpaw, the Riverclan apprentice, accidentally stumble into Snowpaw behind her; the tubby tom’s hushed apology echoed in the silence around them. Snowpaw chuckled, and she felt a glow of pride when he offered to help guide the other apprentice through the tunnels- this was only Splashpaw’s second time at the Moonstone, so he needed all the help he could get. Shaking off her musings, Softgaze lead the way into the chamber just as a moonbeam slipped through the hole in the ceiling, lighting up the Moonstone in a brilliant glow. Used to the sight, she made her way over to it, settling down in front of it before turning to her apprentice.

    He was still standing near the entrance as the others filtered in around him, seemingly entranced with the sight of the light illuminating the cave. He gave a start when he noticed her looking at him, and a fond smile flitted across her face as he scrambled over to meet her, his white fur ruffled with excitement and odd eyes gleaming in the light of the stone. Clearing her throat, she lifted her chin and began to speak.

    “I say these words before our glorious ancestors, and you, my esteemed comrades. I ask you to accept this apprentice into the full order of the healer. He has trained hard for the past seven moons to learn the full responsibilities of a medicine cat, and I find him fully capable of his duties. Snowpaw,” she continued, locking eyes with him, “do you swear to treat every cat, regardless of age or clan affiliation, to the best of your abilities?”

    “I do.”

    “Do you swear to reject the ways of the wicked, to uphold the teachings of Starclan, and to guide your clanmates in the way of the stars?”

    “I do.”

    “Finally,” she mewed, her tone deadly serious, “do you swear to protect the sick, the weak, and the vulnerable, even at the cost of your own life?”

    He swallowed hard before straightening, his voice firm as he replied, “This I do swear, on my own life and by the stars.” Softgaze nodded, a proud gleam in her eyes as she turned to the others gathered around them.

    “You have heard his oaths and you have heard my recommendation. Do you accept this apprentice into our ranks?” They answered with loud yowls of approval, the chamber ringing with the noise. Snowpaw trembled with joy as Softgaze faced him once again. “Then, with the approval of our fellows and our ancestors, I name you Snowdrift, and welcome you as a full medicine cat of Thunderclan.” He had to press himself to the floor so Softgaze could reach his head to lick it, but that didn’t matter. The sound of the others cheering his name swelled around the chamber as he licked her shoulder, Splashpaw nearly shouting himself hoarse. Softgaze chuckled at his enthusiasm, returning Snowdrift’s affectionate nuzzle with one of her own. She gave him an affectionate flick with her tail, purring as the cheers began to die down. “Now,” she announced, “let us commune with our ancestors.” She eased herself into a low crouch, touching her nose to the cool stone and saying a quiet prayer as sleep began to settle over her. Esteemed ancestors, take it easy on the kit-

 don’t do to him what you did to me.

WINDCLAN: Breakable

    Shalestar gulped, trying to hide her nervousness as she looked down at the clan, her clan, for the first time. She was exhausted after the events of the past few days. It seemed that everything that could have possibly gone wrong had. Falconstar and Poppypaw had been murdered-

    Nothing had ever felt heavier than Falconstar’s weight on her back. It was a struggle to carry his body down the slope into camp, but the shrieks that pierced the air as she shouldered her way through the gorse barrier were what almost made her legs buckle beneath her. Gorsestorm and Heathernose were wailing, the others that slipped out of the dens to see what was happening crying out in shock when they saw her. Somehow, the cacophony of sound grew even louder when Palesky entered behind her, poor little Poppypaw dangling from his jaws. Dipperpaw was frozen, plastered to the ground, but the look on Kestrelcall’s face as he saw his daughter’s body-

    And then neither had been present at her nine lives ceremony. The only help she had received, desperate as she was, was a vision of a kit that was more pale fluff than anything else- and no such kit existed in her clan. Shalestar shook herself, clearing her throat a little awkwardly as she looked down at a sea of pained and tired faces.

    “My friends-” her voice broke, and she cleared her throat again, harder this time. “My friends,” she continued, voice hoarse and low, “my family, my brothers and sisters of the stars. I stand with you in the face of this ultimate tragedy. Falconstar…” she trailed off. She locked eyes with Stagstep, then Silverpaw and Cinderpaw, who sat beside him. Drawing strength from their supportive gazes, she continued once more. “Falconstar was a great leader, and we all loved him as such, but more importantly we loved him as a father, a brother, a friend, and a fellow warrior. He had many great seasons before him, as did Poppypaw. The loss of her kindness and unshakeable dedication to this clan is in itself a great tragedy.” Shalestar bowed her head, voice quiet but growing louder with every word, “I swear to each and every one of you, on my own nine lives, and the very stars themselves, that their murderer will be found, and that justice will be done unto them.” She didn’t realize just exactly how loud she had gotten until she finished speaking, her flanks heaving as she looked out over her clanmates, searching for a reaction.

     There was a beat of silence before Silverpaw hoisted herself onto her hind legs, yowling “Shalestar!” as she did. The rest of the clan erupted into cries of their own until they were practically screaming her name to the clear blue sky, eyes burning with grief and defiance. When the cries died down, she continued.

    “As is my responsibility, I now name my successor: Palesky will be the new deputy of Windclan.” The news was expected, but the clan still greeted their new deputy with enthusiastic yowls- all, she noticed, except two. Gorsestorm was openly glowering at Palesky as he approached the Tall Rock, and Heathernose was making a very lame attempt at cheering. This matter is not one that will be settled soon, she thought darkly, leaping down to greet her deputy. Ceremony concluded, the clan began to disperse, some going out to hunt or patrol while others retreated to their dens. Stagstep approached with their kits, Palesky bidding her a quick farewell before padding off to the nursery. Encompassed by Stagstep’s soothing presence, Silverpaw’s cheerful chatter, and Cinderpaw’s quiet affection, Shalestar felt herself relax for the first time since she found Falconstar’s body. She tensed once again, however, as she caught Gorsestorm’s gaze over Cinderpaw’s shoulder. Her younger cousin gave her a look of poorly concealed contempt before slipping out of the gorse tunnel, Heathernose and Kiteclaw quickly following after him. As difficult as things had been over the past few days, Shalestar knew it would only get harder. Dear Starclan, she prayed,

      Don’t let me mess this up.

RIVERCLAN: Lazy river

              Grayfeather felt her joints creak as she rose out of her nest, slowly padding out of the warrior’s den and into the late Greenleaf sunshine. Already there was a cool touch to the air- Leaffall would soon be upon them. She took a deep breath, letting it sink in that that was the last time she would sleep in that nest, this the last day she would spend as a warrior. I never really thought I would make it this far, she thought in wonder, ambling towards the edge of camp where Coppertail was assigning patrols. I cannot believe this is my last day as a warrior.

             “Grayfeather, would you go with Piketail and Littlepaw on a hunting patrol? I know you probably have a few tips that could benefit the both of them.” She purred in amusement as her son twitched his ear in embarrassment, his apprentice smiling shyly at her from where he was half hidden behind his mentor. She had been so proud of Piketail when he had been named a mentor for the first time. He had been so somber and withdrawn since that… incident, when he was an apprentice, and she could see how having Littlepaw around was doing a great deal of good for him. She was content to follow them out of camp and to the river, watching as her son patiently answered the slew of questions Littlepaw was asking.

              “Has anyone ever told you how much you look like your mom?” Littlepaw asked brightly, before his face dropped and his tone became awkward. “I mean, your fur and eyes- I mean, eye? Are the same color, and…” He trailed off, almost cringing in embarrassment. Grayfeather was a little apprehensive, wondering how Piketail would react. She was a little surprised when he let out a snort of laughter.

              “It’s alright Littlepaw, I get what you meant. We do have the same coloring, although I’m afraid that’s about it.” Littlepaw brightened at this generous pass and gave his mentor a grateful nudge before running ahead, having spied the river. She took the moment alone to give her son a comforting lick on his cheek. Piketail’s face was riddled with scars- his left eye was missing, as was his ear, and his right ear was horribly tattered. The scars continued down his neck and chest, and more were scattered down his flanks and across his back. It gave him an almost ragged appearance, although he was meticulous in grooming his thick gray fur. Grayfeather remembered how sensitive he had been, when it became apparent that his wounds were severe enough to disfigure him, how vehemently he had been against a name change, how much it had hurt him when cats stared, or kits hid from him. It made her happy to see how well he handled his apprentice’s fumble- she could easily remember a time when such a comment would have made him withdraw into himself for days.

             “No need to worry, ma. I’m not as much of a shrinking violet these days.” He said with a small laugh. He seemed so comfortable, so sure of himself, that she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face.

              “I can see that!” She meowed, giving him an affectionate flick with her tail. “Now, I know you’re oh so grown up and mature now, but never forget that I’m here for you if you need anything.” He gave her an easy nod as they came to settle near Littlepaw on the riverbank.

              “Don’t worry, you’ll always be the first cat I go to, I promise- even if you are a crochety old elder!”

             Littlepaw burst into laughter as Grayfeather knocked her insolent son into the water for his cheek. Her grin grew impossibly wider as Piketail surfaced, sputtering and complaining. So much like his father, she thought, smile dimming a little. Dear Starclan, please,

 help him bear it when the truth comes out.

SHADOWCLAN: Useless

              Nettleclaw’s eyes gleamed in the artificial light as she slipped under the fence that surrounded the dump. Her sister crept a scant few paw steps ahead of her, slithering towards the shadows cast by a towering pile of trash. It was near moon high, meaning the dump should be empty of twolegs, but increasing their chances of running into other creatures. Rogues and rats were nothing to be trifled with, so she was careful to keep quiet as she followed Briarmask through the mounds of waste. They had just found a box of discarded chicken bones when the smell of twoleg came to them on the stale breeze.

              “What is a twoleg doing here so late?!” Briarmask hissed as she recoiled deeper into the shadows, Nettleclaw scuttling after her. The twoleg moved into view, weaving through the trash piles with a small bag clutched in its hairless paw. It dumped the bag just out of their line of sight before quickly turning and leaving the way it came. Just dumping some trash then, Nettleclaw thought, relieved that they hadn’t been seen. “Come on,” Briarmask said, heading for the chicken box again, “let’s see if there’s anything we can bring back so we can get out of here.” She moved to follow but stopped as she heard a faint noise. It was coming from the direction of the bag the twoleg dumped, and it almost sounded like… a cry?

    “Briar,” she hissed, “do you hear that?” Her sister stopped, ears pricked, and Nettleclaw knew she heard it when she saw Briarmask’s eyes widen.

    “That almost sounds like a kit!” They both immediately turned and darted in the direction of the sound. As they grew closer it became clear that it was a kit crying, or kits, to be more accurate. The small, shiny bag was moving when they came upon it. Nettleclaw quickly tore a small hole in the side, gasping at what she saw. Three tiny kits, maybe two weeks old, were crawling around in the bag, wailing pathetically in their hunger. “We need to get them back to camp now,” she said glancing at Briarmask, “they’re much too young to be without their mother.” She leaned forward, intent on grabbing one of the kits, when a chittering came from behind her, freezing her in place.

      Rats.

    She slowly turned, fur puffing up as she realized how many there were- at least six, huge and disgusting, their wicked teeth and beady eyes flashing in the harsh light. Briarmask hissed at her side, stepping up beside her with her claws unsheathed. In an instant, Nettleclaw came to a decision.

    “Go,” she said quietly, “use the bag, take the kits back to camp.”

    “No way Nettle, there’s too many- “

    “Exactly, they’ll get the kits, you have to go, get them safe and get help!” The rats were advancing and Briarmask was still hesitating. Nettleclaw took a bold step forward, saying over her shoulder, “I’m the better fighter, you’re the faster runner, just go!” The first rat lunged and she met it halfway with a screech. As she sent the rat sprawling, she was relieved to see Briarmask dart away past her, the bag clutched firmly in her mouth. Starclan guide her paws, she thought, turning her attention back to her opponents. The rat got back up, chittering angrily, and she felt terror creep down her spine as she saw even more creeping out of the shadows. And help me win this.

 .

 .

 .

    It felt like moons later when she finally heard the thrumming of many paw steps. She coughed painfully, feeling blood trickle out of her mouth as she did. She lay surrounded by the bodies of her slain enemies, eight in total, but she had suffered for it- there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t burn or sting. I didn’t think I was going to go out like this, she thought numbly, feeling weaker with each passing moment.

    “Nettleclaw!” Ah, there she is. Briarmask skidded to a stop next to her, her fear scent almost rank in Nettleclaw’s nose. “No, no no no, I shouldn’t have left why did you make me leave-“ Nettleclaw sighed as Briarmask pressed her nose into her bloody neck.

    “Thank Starclan you did, or those rats would have shredded you too.” It was getting harder to breathe. “The kits, are they ok?” Her sister’s eyes were shining with unshed tears as she nodded.

    “They’re fine, Pinenose is taking care of them.” Relief washed over Nettleclaw like a wave, and she finally let herself relax, finally started to let go.

    “Good, I’m glad I’m not dying for nothing.” Ignoring Briarmask’s protests, she continued, “I need you to promise me you’ll always take care of them, Briar. Don’t let my death be meaningless- that’s what I’ve always been afraid of, you know? I never wanted to be useless.” Her thoughts were growing fuzzy and dim, words slurring, and she was running out of breath to speak with. “Promise me.”

    “You’ve never been useless Nettle, and you definitely aren’t useless now.” Briarmask said thickly, tears now streaming freely down her cheeks. “I promise you, I’ll keep them safe, I’ll guard them with my life.”

    “You always were copying me, weren’t you?” Nettleclaw chuckled, before she was seized by a coughing fit. It was impossible to ignore the encroaching darkness, impossible to ignore that she couldn’t breathe anymore. Briarmask’s sobs grew faint in her ears, and as she closed her eyes for the final time, she couldn’t help but smile. Starclan guide me home, and please,

      keep them safe.

Next

[irisintheafterglow]

heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: sabrina carpenter - "please please please"

summary: a school assignment leads you to team bofurin. a chance meeting in the cafe leads you to umemiya. where else will furin high lead you over the course of 5 days?

wc: 7.5k (lord have mercy)

cw/tags: umemiya hajime x gn journalist!reader, strangers to lovers, swearing/explicit language, brief canon-typical violence, blood, and peril, angst/fluff and injury hurt/comfort, ume's a gentleman but that gets tested lol

note: friends this is the longest thing i have ever posted here and i was really debating not posting it because i didn't like how it was turning out, but then i just pushed through the rest of it...and it became 7 thousand words.....ANYWAY really hope you enjoy !

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <33

— Day 1 of 5: “Please, please, please // Don’t prove I’m right” 

A glass bottle shatters on the sidewalk below you, shadowy figures scattering into dark alleyways like rats. You grimace at their sadistic laughter and silently thank your host for not living on the ground-level. The sound of a shaking spray paint can echoes in the empty street and you watch a messy hot pink insignia appear as it's drawn on a shop window. Damn. This was going to be a long five days. 

“Wait, you want me to do what?” 

“You’ll be staying with a high school friend of mine who owns a store in the area,” your journalism teacher continues, quickly scanning over a student’s document and grading it without blinking. She swipes to the next document, mechanically repeating the same process of grading it and moving on. She doesn’t stop to see the shock on your face.

“Ma’am, I don’t know–”

“You’ll be fine, just stick to the populated areas and don’t go out at night. If you want to, you could even befriend some of those Furin kids,” she says as she absentmindedly clicks away at her keyboard. “It’ll be good for you to report on something other than the mathletes team, for once.” At least the mathletes are safe, you think to yourself. A little awkward, but nowhere near the delinquents at Furin.

“Hold on, may I ask why I’m the one doing this?” You wring your hands nervously, glancing at the afternoon sun sinking outside the classroom window. “I don’t understand why you’re asking me–” 

“You want the full-ride scholarship, don’t you?” Her eyes are beady through the thin rims of her glasses. You fight the urge to shrink away from her piercing gaze, one that you never become accustomed to no matter how many times you’re subject to it. “Trust me when I tell you that the judges will not care how many times the mathletes lost, no matter how eloquently you write about it.” You let your skepticism show on your face. 

“But they’ll care about a bunch of boys that get into fights every day?” If she cares about your deadpanned comment, she doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“My friend told me once or twice that there’s more to those Furin boys than meets the eye,” she says before turning back to her screen. Your confusion is still obvious, but the only help your teacher gives you is an indifferent shrug. “It’s up to you. But if you want a competitive edge, you need to take more risks.” You exhale, weighing your options and ultimately deciding that your career was more important. 

“When do I start?” 

You begin your morning early on your first day in Makochi. After leaving your host’s apartment and staring at the graffiti-covered high school that was drowning in plant overgrowth, you abruptly turned on your heel and decided to observe the people on the busiest street. You had no interest in exploring Furin High School itself, only the effects of crime and constant fighting on the uninvolved citizens. You catch a group of boys wearing black jackets heading in the same direction as you and duck into the nearest cafe, hoping to wait them out and watch how they interact with the town. Across the street, the owners of the shop that was vandalized with the pink insignia scrub the paint from the glass. 

“Good morning.” A girl with short brown hair greets you behind the counter, gesturing for you to take a seat on one of the stools. You thank her and set your notebook down next to you, flipping through the menu when you feel her staring at you. “Are you new here?” 

“I’m in town for a few days,” you reply. Her demeanor is friendlier than you would expect from an area that sees so much violence. “I’m from one of the neighboring high schools.” The girl nods, placing a cup of water in front of you, along with a set of chopsticks. 

“Are you visiting family? We don’t get many visitors here, so I’m just wondering what a new face is doing in town,” she says, nodding when you point at the menu item you want for breakfast. 

“No family here; I’m actually studying the town for an assignment. My teacher thinks that if I write about this town, it’ll help me get a scholarship.” Her mouth opens in an ah of understanding and she ducks into the refrigerator to retrieve some eggs. An idea pops into your brain and you open your notebook. “While I’m here, do you mind if I ask you a few questions about Furin High?”

“Sure. Bofurin members eat here all the time.” Your eyebrows draw together and, unlike your journalism teacher, she understands and addresses your lack of knowledge. “Bofurin is the team that protects this town. It’s made up entirely of students at Furin High School. Actually, it’s a little funny that you stopped into here today, of all places, since–” 

“Kotoha!” The door flies open and the same group of boys that were behind you on the sidewalk corral into the cafe, the space suddenly too small for the number of people present. The source of the voice, a tall guy with bright white hair and coattails attached to his jacket, approaches the girl behind the counter with a blinding smile. “Did you miss me?” 

“No,” Kotoha deadpans, sending you a sympathetic look as more boys file into the cafe. “I was gonna say that you chose the one day Umemiya treats all his underclassmen to breakfast. Umemiya’s the leader, the tall idiot I was just talking to.” You grimace and begin to jot down what little information you’d learned about Furin, covering the side of your face with your hand and hoping none of the students question why you were there. It’s wishful thinking, unfortunately. 

“Oi.” You’re snapped from your brainstorming daze by a boy whose hair and eyes were two different colors. He was watching you write like you were plotting how to demolish the high school and you curse your luck for the millionth time that you picked the one cafe the Bofurin team frequented. “Who are you and why are you here?”

“Sakura, you can’t just say that to strangers. Tell them you’re sorry,” Kotoha, the girl behind the counter, chides. The boy’s cheeks turn pink and he turns away, muttering what sounds like a half-assed apology to you. “Don’t mind him,” she says to you with a warm smile. “He’s terrible around new people.” Sakura’s face twists into indignation. 

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are. You got into a fight on your first day here, and school hadn’t even started yet,” points out another student with blonde hair sitting next to a boy wearing dangling earrings and an eyepatch. You’re quick to write down anything and everything you were hearing, picking up pieces of conversation from the tables around you. “Hey, what are you writing?” The question doesn’t come off as accusatory, but you shut your notebook anyways and guard it like a treasure chest. 

“It’s nothing. Just homework,” you force out. 

“Homework,” the boy with the eyepatch echoes. “So, you live around here?”

“They go to a neighboring highschool,” Kotoha explains before you have the chance to speak. “They’re actually here to study Bofurin.” All three boys turn to you expectantly, as if you were going to interview them on the spot. 

“I’m just here to observe,” you say quickly, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m not here to interfere or get in your way or anything.” 

“Who said you would be getting in the way? I’m sure Umemiya wouldn’t mind–” 

“I wouldn’t mind what?” You jump, the same guy that called Kotoha’s name upon entering the cafe appearing like a ghost between you and the boys you were conversing with. “Have you three ordered yet? You need to eat! We have a big day today,” the person you assume is Umemiya instructs the boys. To your surprise, they’re quick to nod their assent and place their orders. “Good. Now, what was it I wasn’t going to mind?” 

“There’s someone here to study us,” the half-and-half haired kid mutters, pointing in your direction. Like before, the two other students scold him for his brashness. 

“Don’t say it like that, Sakura.” 

“It makes it sound like we’re animals in a documentary.” 

“Study us?” Umemiya ignores them and turns to you with a curious look. “Why?” Your face heats and you hastily close your notebook again, hoping that Kotoha would be done with your food soon so you could vacate the cafe and avoid it for the rest of your stay. 

“It’s for an assignment for school,” you reply hesitantly. 

“You don’t need to be so humble,” Kotoha calls over her shoulder from the stove. “You can tell them it’s for a scholarship.” The three boys next to Umemiya gape at you in awe, but you can’t help feeling the slightest bit embarrassed that you drew so much attention to yourself on your first day in town. You didn’t know much about the Furin boys except for their reputation as fighters, and you expected Umemiya to turn you away and kick you out on the spot. 

“I’ll be out of town in a few days, so you don’t need to–”

“You can shadow us.” What the hell did he just say? You blink at him, unsure if you hallucinated his words or if he actually said them. Umemiya’s face suddenly turns a shade redder and he turns to his three underclassmen, whispering uneasily, “That is the term for it, right?”

“I think so,” the blonde one whispers back. “Suo, you’re better with words. What does it–”

“You want them to follow you around and see how you guys work,” Kotoha says as she brings you your meal in a to-go container. “That’s what ‘shadowing’ means.” Umemiya thanks her with a thumbs-up before turning back to you. 

“What she said. Come with us as we go through our daily routines so you really understand what we do.” You start to stutter out a list of fake reasons why you couldn’t, something along the lines of getting in their way and needing to take a fish to the veterinarian. Umemiya doesn’t budge and sees through your nerves like glass. “You won’t be inconveniencing us at all, I promise. If anything, it’ll be good for more people to have an understanding of Bofurin.” 

“Yeah. If you just watch us from the outside, your writing’s not gonna be any good,” Sakura says bluntly. The two boys next to him flinch and cover their faces. 

“You should stop saying things like that, Sakura,” the boy with the eye-patch warns. 

“Like I said,” Kotoha mumbles in passing. “Don’t pay him any mind. He’s just like that.”

“So, what do you say?” Umemiya grins at you in a way that unwillingly makes your heart rate increase and, before your mind knows it, you’re nodding in agreement and he settles on the stool next to you. “Great! Before we start, do you mind if I ask you about yourself?”

—  Day 2 of 5: “I know I have good judgment // I know I have good taste”

It’s 7:00 am when Umemiya appears outside your door. 

“Good morning! Did you sleep well? I know yesterday was a lot, so hopefully we didn’t scare you too badly.” You rub your eyes and manage to give him a sleepy ‘good morning,’ trying to shake off the exhaustion after running around the previous day with Bofurin. The moon was hanging high by the time Umemiya dropped you off at your host’s apartment and you thought you were hearing things when he said he’d be back in the morning to pick you up. “We’re not gonna have time to stop by the cafe, so I picked up something for you to eat.” You open the small paper bag he hands you to find a pastry wrapped in a napkin, slightly squashed from the walk. “Do you have everything?” 

“Yes, I do. This is really nice of you Umemiya,” you say as you fall into step next to him. He shrugs and waves you off, but you catch the self-confident upturn at the corner of his mouth. Why you were staring at his mouth in the first place could not be waterboarded out of you. 

“Don’t mention it. What’d you think of yesterday? Oh, wait. Let me take this from you so you can eat.” Before you can stop him, he reaches over and carefully slides the strap of your bag from your shoulder and hoists it onto his. Surprised, you thank him again, something that you found yourself doing a lot since you met him. It wasn’t like you were trying to overstate your gratitude, Umemiya just kept doing things for you; on your first day, he did everything from crouching down to tie your shoe to herding you toward the side of the sidewalk, away from the busy street. So far, Bofurin was nothing like you’d previously imagined. 

“There’s a lot more structure in place than I thought there would be,” you answer, taking a few bites of the pastry. After Umemiya gave you a proper introduction to first-year class captain (and your self-proclaimed #1 skeptic) Sakura, he also introduced you to Suo and Nirei, the two boys that were with him. The rest of your first day was a flurry of meetings and broadcast announcements from the top of the school, mixed with an unexpected amount of pot transplanting on the roof. “I didn’t realize there would be such a clear hierarchy of power…or a community garden.”

“You thought we were just a bunch of kids who got into fights every day?”

“Yes–wait, no!” Your face burns while you backtrack and try to explain yourself. Umemiya doesn’t hear it and simply chuckles at your slip. “Okay, fine. Yes, I did think you were a bunch of kids that got into fights every day. But,” you pause, taking a look at the pastry in your hand. “There’s obviously more I need to learn.” 

“That’s alright,” Umemiya beams. The sun starts to peek over the roofs of the little stores and houses, painting Furin High golden as you approach. “That's why I’m here. Oh, and before I forget, give me your phone.” You watch as he dials his contact information in, even taking a picture of himself for the contact photo. “What do you think?” 

“Wow, you look great. Thanks for doing that for me.”

“Of course. Now you have a direct line to me in case you ever need anything!” He has a cute smile, speaks an unprompted voice in your head that you’re quick to silence. You’re about to tease him about being so friendly with strangers when you catch sight of a smear of hot pink running across the bricks beside you. Umemiya’s smile fades as you walk past the metal garage door of a food vendor, it too becoming the victim of the same pink marking you saw on your first night. 

“That’s the second one I’ve seen now.” His eyes are narrowed when you turn to him. He’s not focusing on what you’re saying; you can tell by the way the muscle in his jaw clenches that he’s running analyses like a supercomputer. “Do you have any idea who’s doing this?”

“There hasn’t been word of a pink team in ages, let alone one that has the audacity to come on Bofurin territory and claim it,” he says quietly.  

“They’re trying to take it from you?”

“Keyword ‘trying.’ Doesn’t mean they’ll be successful.” The darkness of his expression disappears in a blink and you’re met with a self-assured grin. “Ah, well don’t worry about it. We handle this kind of stuff all the time,” he reassures you, readjusting your bag over his shoulder and starting again down the sidewalk.  

“How often do you deal with stuff like this?” 

“Weekly, probably,” he shrugs and you make a mental reminder to write it in your notebook. 

“Are people just looking for a fight because you’re the strongest team, or is it something else?” Your mind momentarily brings you back to sitting across from the mathletes team in the school library, giving them food for thought and jotting down their responses. It was a little different, asking questions of Umemiya, but the familiar feeling of seeking answers is comforting muscle memory. 

“I don’t have a concrete answer for you, honestly,” he admits. “But, my theory is that people don’t like what we do here. We protect the town and discourage people from doing unethical things. People simply don’t like being told what they can’t do.” You nod, trying your best to remember everything he’s saying. It made sense why smaller teams would want to take down the most powerful team in the area, but the morality side and restricting the actions of others because they harm the townspeople was something you didn’t expect to also play into the situation. “Are you going to interview any other teams here?” You shake your head.

“I wasn’t planning on it. The answers that you’re giving me now are more than I could have hoped for,” you answer and you catch his satisfied smirk out of the corner of your eye. “Do you think I should study other teams?” 

“You don’t need to. You fit in better with us, anyway.” 

— Day 3 of 5: “Whatever devil’s inside you // Don’t let him out tonight”

Reports of the hot pink marking become more frequent the longer you stay with Bofurin, both for sightings on shop windows and shadows sneaking around alleyways just out of patroller’s lines of sight. The more teams Umemiya sent out to paint over the vandalism, the more sightings increased. To you, it was an indicator of growing tensions between Bofurin and surrounding, envious teams. 

To Umemiya, it was Wednesday. 

“We have a collaborative meeting with another team, Shishitoren, today,” he informs you on the walk from your host’s apartment to the school, your bag swinging weightlessly on his shoulder. “I’d like for you to join us, but it’s ultimately up to you.” 

“Do you have a history with them?” The team leader’s eyes space out and he blinks once, then twice, before coming back to the present. 

“Yeah…you could say that,” he chuckles. “Just don’t ask Sakura about his first one-on-one with them. He gets defensive.” You stifle a grin.

“Oh, did he lose?”

“He won, actually,” Umemiya corrects, equally as amused as you, “Which is the part he gets mad about, so you should probably steer clear of the subject all together.” You nod, interviewing Sakura being nowhere in your plans. “Suo and Nirei will be able to give you all the info you need, though,” he says quickly, mistaking your silence for discontent. “And of course, you could always ask me too.” He smiles at you and something in your brain short-circuits. 

Ever the professional, you try not to think about how nice Umemiya’s been to you when you arrive at the Ori, headquarters of Shishitoren. Steering away from the run-down screening room, you and Umemiya’s team climb up to the roof, where a group of guys wearing orange baseball jackets are waiting. 

“What took you so long? Breakfast is getting cold!” The team’s leader, Tomiyama, leaps from his seat on the ledge and bounds over to Umemiya. “Oh?” He pauses, looking you up and down before smiling brightly at you. “You brought your new friend, Ume!” You wave politely and introduce yourself, a little more relaxed with Umemiya at your side. 

“Smart,” comments whom you assume to be the second-in-command, Togame. He moves at a leisurely pace, barely even blinking as he lifts Tomiyama by the collar of his jacket and sets him at the other end of the meeting’s circle. “Our guys have caught at least three of their guys running surveillance on your side. Who knows what would’ve happened if you left your guest at the school alone.”

“Surveillance?” You frown, but Umemiya doesn’t look surprised. “And what do you mean, something could have happened?” 

“Rival members follow others around, learning their ins and outs,” Togame tells you. “Essentially what you’ve been doing, but uninvited. They’ve been getting pretty pissy about Bofurin lately, so they might’ve tried to use you as some kind of collateral if they knew Umemiya would be out.” The thought makes you gag, and the same discontent expressions can be found on all the occupants of the roof. 

“They’re not very nice, those guys,” Tomiyama pouts. “The ones we’ve questioned wanna take over your side, Ume.” So other teams want to take over Bofurin’s territory more often than Umemiya lets on, you think to yourself. Maybe not even on a weekly basis, but daily. 

“Did you let the guys you’ve questioned off the hook? Or you still have ‘em here?” Hiragi asks. 

“We don’t have any of them here, no,” Togame replies. “But we have a general idea of how they make their rounds and can probably catch a team or two when they start following Bofurin guys.” 

“Great,” Umemiya concludes with a single decisive clap. “Let’s go get ‘em.” 

“Alright, field trip time!” Tomiyama’s energy sends him practically bouncing off the walls. You pack up what little things you brought with you to the meeting and are ready to fall into step behind the guys, but Umemiya stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Yo, Kaji.” The lollipop-mouthed second-year pulls down his headphones to listen. “Take them back to the school. Don’t want them there in case things get ugly.” You open your mouth to protest, ready to fire off why it’s important that you see the good, bad, and ugly of Bofurin, but Umemiya silences you with a shake of his head. “Please go. I’m not changing my mind.” 

“Why don’t you want me to be there?”

“Like I said, things could get ugly–” 

“And,” you cut in, “I’m capable enough to run if I need to. You can trust me to get out of there on my own.” The tone of his reply is soft and patient, like it was for your own good that you didn’t go. 

“Maybe next time, okay?” You frown, disappointment twisting in your gut. “I don’t doubt that you can handle your own if things get bad. I just…don’t want you to see it if things get bad.” He runs a hand through his hair and the flex of his large bicep suddenly clicks the pieces of understanding into place. There was a reason why he was the head of Bofurin and respected by all these rowdy team members, whether they were on his team or not. Though you hadn’t seen him fight yet, there was a more dangerous side to Umemiya that existed with the kindness he’d shown you. He didn’t want you there in case things got ugly because of him. 

“I–I see.” He nods with a sigh of relief and turns to leave; you pull your arms close to your body at the sudden chill as he walks away. “Umemiya?” He pauses at the doorway, his hand hovering over the handle as he looks over his shoulder at you expectantly. Several things occurred to you to say to them, all of them borderline condescending if he took it the wrong way. Don’t do anything brash. Make sure you come back. You shouldn’t need to use your fists for this. 

“Be safe, please,” is what you settle for. 

— Day 4 of 5: “Everyone makes mistakes // But just don’t”

You’re past the halfway point of studying Furin High and team Bofurin when Hiragi storms into the broadcast room, grumbling about being out of supplies. Umemiya isn’t worried and reassures his friend that they would have what they were missing by the end of the day. Four days of immersing yourself in Bofurin was having a significant effect on you, since you volunteer to do the run before anyone else does. 

To be fair, you did need to run back to your host’s apartment–who had so graciously started letting Umemiya in while he waited for you to get ready in the morning–because you’d forgotten to drop your notebook in your bag before rushing out the door. The list wasn’t huge, either, and you figured you could do the whole trip in about an hour: painkillers (Nirei misjudged his spacing and accidentally got kicked in the crotch), small bandages (Sakura, self-explanatory), wet wipes (Suo noted how dirty the desks became because of everyone’s shoes), and a few packages of plant food (Umemiya insisted on buying some potted flowers from the vendor on your street).

“Are you sure? One of the patrol teams can pick the stuff up,” Umemiya offers, eyeing you oddly. Four days of immersing yourself in Bofurin meant you also caught the team’s head staring when he thought you weren’t looking, and then quickly turning away when you looked back. “Or, if you go, let me send one of the class captains with you, just in case. Sakura should be on patrol in the area.” You shake your head and stand up to leave. 

“I’ll be fine, Ume, I promise.” The nickname slips out before you can stop it, but he doesn’t seem to notice, eyebrows drawn in concern as he watches the floor. You lightly rest your hand on his shoulder and he snaps out of it, exhaling through his nose before nodding, reluctantly. 

“Call if anything happens,” Hiragi grunts before turning to Umemiya. “Hey, weren’t you talking about giving them a–”

“Hiragi, you’re a genius,” Umemiya cuts in and moves to dig through a box at the corner of the room. “Hey, wait,” he says, gently catching your wrist before you’re out the door and pressing a jacket into your hand. Four days of immersing yourself in Bofurin, and you would know the jacket’s green collar and the insignia anywhere. “No one should bother you if you’re wearing it.” 

Ironically, absolutely nothing happens until you’re on your way back from the convenience store. Your host was waiting for you in the living area to give you your notebook, and the store was barely a block away from her apartment. You find the needed items easily, placing a bag of mixed hard candies and a box of new chalk into your basket because you noticed they were running out. It’s a perfect day as you walk back to Furin, all cloudless skies and cool breezes and smooth sidewalks. The Furin jacket fits snugly on your torso, sturdy enough to protect you from the chill in the shade but light enough that you don’t overheat from the sun. It’s nice, something you could get used to. 

You don’t realize they’re behind you until it’s too late. 

“So, you’re Bofurin’s bitch, huh? Nice to see you in the light.” You stop in your tracks and look behind you to see a dozen guys in hot pink team uniforms you don’t recognize. There shouldn’t be that many of a rival team on Bofurin grounds, right? What the hell were they doing here? 

“You gonna say something, or are you stupid as you are ugly?” 

“Aww, look at them. They’re shaking and they don’t even know why,” one of the guys in the front sneers. “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll give you something to be scared of.” The group starts to approach you and your vision slows like everything was moving through syrup. You catch the symbol on their uniforms, the same one that’s been spray painted on the town’s buildings for the past few days. The encroaching team was trying to take you to get leverage over Bofurin. Not good. Definitely not good. 

“Umemiya’s gonna think twice about messing with us after they see how we mess up his little pet!” Umemiya. You need to get to Umemiya. Your senses come back to you like a freight train and you have half the mind to dig your shoes into the street and run. 

The rival team shouts after you and the sound of pursuing footsteps thunder down the road. With one hand gripping the plastic bag of supplies, you yank your phone from the jacket pocket and frantically swipe to his contact. Your assailants draw closer and you force more energy into your legs, barely outrunning them by a few seconds. You cut through an alleyway and round a corner, but a dip in the road simultaneously makes you trip, pain shooting through your ankle. Shit! Your finger misses the ‘call’ button on your phone and you tap the ‘send location’ button instead. It’s not what you were going for, but your only options were to stop to properly call for help and get caught or keep running on your tweaked ankle. With the group of guys racing around the corner to catch you, you have no choice but to keep running. 

“Get the hell away from me!” You skid to a halt and turn to face the team head-on, your voice unsteady and breathless. You were finally starting to recognize the buildings around you; at the same time, your lungs were aching unbearably. Your pursuers slow to a halt and you’re stuck in a standoff in the middle of the street, the townspeople shutting themselves away in their stores to minimize damage to their own livelihoods. You stumble backward when the team leader steps forward, a cruel grin covering his entire face. 

“C’mon now, we just wanna have a little chat with you, you being Bofurin’s newest addition and all.” The men behind him leer at you, swinging their bats and crowbars up onto their shoulders. 

“Take one step closer and all of Bofurin comes running,” you snarl, shoving your phone forward, your finger hovering over the ‘send location’ button.

“That’s a whole lotta bullshit spewing out of your mouth, sweetie.”

“Why don’t you shut yours, asshole?” You spit. Sure the phone was a bluff, a last-ditch effort to stall for time.

It didn’t matter.

You knew how quickly Bofurin organized. 

As the hot pink leader lunges the remaining distance between you two, he’s knocked to the side by a blur of black, green, and white. Sakura stands up straight, rolls his shoulders, and scowls at you. 

“Why didn’t you call us sooner, dumbass?” 

“What, you think I wanted to get chased down today?” You meet his attitude with your own irritation and exhaustion. “Why didn’t you get here sooner?”

“Just go somewhere safe, idiot,” he yells, slamming his fist into an attacker’s face. “Your boyfriend’ll be here soon, but we were closer when he messaged everyone!” You don’t have time to think about the idea of Umemiya texting all of Bofurin to descend upon your location.Your glare fades quickly into relief and you step backward as Suo and Kiryu launch themselves into the fight.  Kaji and Hiragi rush in within a minute, and you’re spun to face Umemiya before you register that he’s there. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” He searches your face, his anxiety evident. “What did they do to you?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay. They didn’t get me.” Your voice wavers when you try to put weight on your injured ankle, and it panics Umemiya even more. Other Bofurin members enthusiastically join the brawl, but all Umemiya can do is take your hands and scan your body, letting you use him to balance on your good foot. 

“They were chasing you? I knew I should have–” You give him a tired smile and pull his face up to meet your eyes. 

“I didn’t let them catch me. I’m safe, I promise.” He inhales like he’s about to say something, but his attention snaps behind you, his expression hardening in an instant. He slips in front of you like a shield and brings his forearm up to block the hand that was meant to grab you while you were distracted. He throws the attacker to the ground and it lies still, completely unconscious. 

“Hey!” The sound of Umemiya’s voice echoes in the street. The chaos stills, fists suspended in mid air. His eyes that looked so kindly on you darken into shadows, shutting out the sunlight and sending chills down the backs of everyone present. “Not enough to kill…” he orders, securing an arm around your waist and turning you away from the fighting, leaving his underclassmen to finish the job. “But enough.”

You’re a sweating mess and barely able to put weight on your ankle by the time you make it through the doors of Bofurin headquarters. You fall away from his supportive body and your shoulder hits the wall, stars scattering in your vision. Any attempt to drag yourself further, with or without Umemiya’s help, earns you nothing but a hiss and a white-hot flash of pain. Umemiya looks distraught, reaching forward and pulling back with indecisive uncertainty. 

“What do you need me to do? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” he pleads with you. “Please, tell me what you need.” 

“Water,” you croak, your voice hoarse and tired. “I just��I can’t–I can’t walk well–” Your feet leave the ground before you can comprehend that you’re in the air, Umemiya’s arms effortlessly lifting you and beginning the ascent up the school’s stairs. His body is steady and he barely breaks a sweat, stone-cold determination his only expression. Your decreasing heart rate pounds in your forehead and you squint against the light once he climbs to the roof. He sets you gently on a chair in the shade before retrieving a bottle of water, watching as you take a few sips before kneeling in front of you. 

“May I?” You blink, regaining your senses, and realize he’s asking if he can inspect your ankle. You hum, settling into the chair while he carefully rolls up the cuff of your pants. His fingers brushing your bare skin momentarily makes you forget any pain, a shock of lightning shooting up your spine as he swipes his thumb over the front of your ankle. He turns your leg over gently in his hands before deeming it okay. “It’s not swelling, thankfully, so it’s probably just a bad sprain at most.” He exhales, deeply relieved, but continues to run his fingers carefully over the tender area. 

“You couldn’t have predicted they would be there,” you say, his thoughts painted all over his face. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he mumbles, more irritated than you expected. He’s just mad at himself, not at you, you need to remind yourself.  

“You didn’t need to.” Your hand reaches itself out on its own accord, turning his face so you could meet his eyes. “I didn’t get hurt because of you.” 

“But you did get hurt,” he mutters, eyebrows drawn the same way as when he was analyzing the pink symbol a few days prior. The cogs in his brain were turning, you could see, but this time there was a lingering sense of shame. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“I’m here with you, aren’t I?” He shrugs, but you catch the muscle in his jaw relax as his eyes soften. “If that’s not safe, then I don’t know what is.” 

“You’re not angry that I wasn’t there sooner?”

“I’m safest when I’m with you,” you state simply, “and you found me at just the right moment. So no, of course I’m not angry with you.” Words slip out of Umemiya’s mouth before he’s able to register that they’re leaving, but he has half the mind to change the middle part of the sentence before he comes off as too overbearing. 

“I…care about you, deeply.” You smile, letting him take your hand into his own and press his lips to the inside of your palm. 

— Day 5 of 5: “We could live so happily // If no one knows that you’re with me”

It’s 7:00 am and Umemiya isn’t outside your door. 

You curl up on your bed and stare out the window, the street below milling with its usual morning business. After he dropped you off the previous night with a curt ‘sleep well’ and a reminder to ice your ankle, you were left in an eerily quiet bedroom while you tossed and turned thinking about the day’s events. A ring of the doorbell sends you hobbling down the stairs and throwing open the front door, only to be met with a very pink Sakura, flanked by Suo and Nirei. 

“Don’t go outside today,” Sakura says bluntly. Nirei flinches and Suo’s smile becomes slightly strained, both of them eyeing their class captain warily. 

“What he means,” Suo says before Sakura can say anything else, “is that you don’t need to come study Bofurin today.” Your heart sinks. This must have been because of the day prior. He was really mad that you got yourself hurt, huh? 

“Don’t look so sad about it,” Sakura mutters, his cheeks turning a slightly darker shade of red. “It’s annoying.” You stutter an unexpected apology and suddenly have the urge to hide back in your room until your train the next day. 

“I get it,” you say quietly. “He’s angry with me. Please give him my thanks for the hospitality he’s shown me this week. I’ll be gone by 8:00 tomorrow.” You move to close the door when all three boys practically throw themselves in the way. 

“Wait, that’s not what we meant!” Nirei’s eyes are the size of basketballs. 

“Please don’t listen to anything Sakura is saying; he has a hard time empathizing with others.” Nirei nods enthusiastically in agreement with Suo, slapping a hand over Sakura’s mouth to prevent the boy from speaking. “Really, that’s not what we mean by saying you don’t need to study us anymore.” 

“Umemiya wants you to take the day to rest,” Nirei explains quickly. “He doesn’t think you should be walking to and from the school on your injured ankle.” Your sadness is replaced with indignancy and you cross your arms over your chest. 

“He couldn’t have told me this himself?” 

“He would, but…” Nirei’s voice trails off and you catch Suo biting the inside of his cheek. Sakura’s the first to break the silence, peeling Nirei’s hand from his face. 

“Umemiya and the upperclassmen have been beating the shit out of those hot pink assholes since last night.” 

“It must’ve been pretty serious, since he didn’t even allow Suo or Sakura to go with them,” Nirei adds, “And they’re some of the best fighters in our class.” 

“How long has he been out?” 

“Hiragi said he called them late last night and a small team raided the hot pink team’s base.” That would mean Bofurin raided the base immediately after dropping you off. Why would he hide that from you? “Technically, he said not to tell you because he knew you’d panic,” Sakura continues. “So he sent us to tell you to take it easy. Don’t stab the messengers.”

“It’s ‘don’t shoot the messengers,’ Sakura,” Suo corrects and Sakura shrugs, indifferent. 

“And we’re already as good as dead anyway,” Nirei says, his expression dropping. “We weren’t supposed to tell you that he’s been fighting those guys that hurt you.” 

“It’s Sakura’s fault for yapping–”

“You wanna fight?”

“What’s done is done, little brothers.” You stiffen, blinking against the morning sun as Umemiya trudges into your vision. His handsome face has seen better days, small cuts and bruises littered all over his skin. He tossed his jacket over his shoulder, revealing the dirtied white shirt that wasn’t stained the previous evening. He rolls a broad shoulder and stretches his neck from side to side, his underclassmen scurrying away as he steps onto the welcome mat. “G’morning,” he greets in a tired voice. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Better late than never,” you deadpan, taking his hand and guiding him inside. “Thanks boys,” you call over your shoulder at the sheepish underclassmen. “I’ll take it from here,” you finish before shutting the door. 

“Gotta say, this place looks better when my vision isn’t blurry,” Umemiya jokes with a wince, collapsing into a chair at the dining table. You ignore his attempt at humor, retrieving the first aid kit from the closet along with a rag that you soak with warm water. His eyes are on you as you move about; you feel his gaze burn into the back of your neck. 

“If you weren’t already beaten to a pulp, I’d slap you,” you mumble, sitting across from him and gently patting the dried blood from his face. 

“And I’d let you,” he manages to smile, never taking his attention away from you. You can’t tell if your face is hot from his intense stare or from the anger bubbling in your stomach. Scooting closer, you start work on the cut above his lip, just missing his nose. “You smell nice.” 

“You need to stop talking.” His smile fades only slightly, his eyes ever watchful while you take care of his wounds. You hope he can’t tell how badly your hands are shaking as you tap antibiotic ointment onto his skin and cover it with a bandage. 

“You’re upset with me,” he says carefully, observing the way you’re conveniently avoiding eye contact. 

“You just figured that out?”

“You gonna tell me why, or are you just gonna keep scowling?”

“This is not how you usually do things,” you say through gritted teeth, gesturing to the evidence of fights all over his body. “You’re diplomatic. You’re understanding. You’re empathetic. You don’t…You don’t solve problems like this!” You don’t realize how loud your voice has become until you register the echo from the empty walls, nor do you realize that you were standing until his eyes were looking up at you. 

“How do you know that I don’t do this?”

“Because I watched you this week and I know how you work.” You swallow thickly. “I don’t know why you’d break all of that just because of some hot pink bastards running around your–”

“I did it because of you,” he says. “I did it because they hurt you.”

“You didn’t need to do that, Hajime.” It’s the first time you’d used his first name and something flutters in Umemiya’s stomach. He can’t do anything but stare at you in awe, watching as your emotions start to escape down your face in wet streaks. His body moves on its own, reaching out to wipe your tears to the side and standing so that your chests are nearly touching. His voice is barely a murmur, reserved only for you to hear. 

“You didn’t want me to do it?” Both your hearts are racing, slamming against your rib cages. 

“If it meant you getting hurt like this, then no.”

“I’d put myself through much worse if it meant you were safe,” he whispers. In this proximity, your anger flies out the window, along with your good judgment. He was so close, you could just–

“What else would you do for me?” His eyelashes flutter against yours. 

“Anything.” Umemiya thinks he has a broken rib from how little he can breathe. 

“Show me.” It’s like a rubber band snaps between your bodies as he finally leans down to kiss you, molding himself so that you could perfectly melt against him. His grip on your waist is rock-solid, holding you close enough that you feel him shudder when you scratch against his undercut. The sound you make when he swipes his tongue against your bottom lip makes his head go completely empty, the same feeling happening for you when his fingers graze the spot where your neck meets your chin. He kisses you feverishly, refusing to let you breathe until you’re forced to pull away lest you completely lose consciousness. 

“Do you always kiss the people you write about?” He winks at you and you roll your eyes, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“Only the ones I fall for,” you whisper back. “I’m still mad at you for ditching me this morning, though.” 

“I sent your three favorite underclassmen instead,” he argues but you shake your head, a smile teasing your mouth. “Fine. How can I make it up to you?” You hum thoughtfully, blinking at him in a way that sent Umemiya’s mind into a frenzy. 

“Kiss me again and we’ll call it even.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

— Day [???] of [???]: 

He’s waiting for you when you step off the train, a dazzling smile on his face that grows when he sees the certificate awarded to you with your scholarship funds. A dozen captains dot the platform, diligently watching the back of their leader as he brings down every guard he has and catches you in his arms. After enduring Umemiya talking their ears off, the silence that falls over the area as you bask in each other’s presence is enough of a reason to switch formations, allowing you time alone with the one man who would put himself through hell if it meant you were still his. 

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

༉‧₊˚. 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: spencer reid x plus size seer!reader

— summary: cursed with the ability to see futuristic visions, you somehow manage to save spencer reid.

— warnings: mentions of dead pets, bloody noses, past seizures, and serial killers.

— wc: 1290

⋆ a/n: hello! okay so i understand that this is completely random and honestly it was a completed wip that was sitting in my drafts so i figured 'why not?' i'm not really pleased with the ending so if anyone would be interested in a part two or continuation, i wouldn't be against it!

masterlist | AO3

The first time you had a vision you were six playing in your mother’s garden, blissfully running through the overgrowths of plants and vegetation before you dropped to the ground like a bag of rocks.

You don’t remember much aside from the scene that played behind your eyes, like a burnt movie;  dark clouds, blurred yelling, and a puff of fur running out into the street. When you had come-to with a gasp, you were in the hospital.

Apparently when you had fainted you started seizing, body shaking fiercely as blood pooled from your nose. The MRI scans showed that your brain was so healthy it was like the seizure hadn't happened at all.

Sometimes your visions took a while to come to fruition, but when it did, they were never wrong. 

Your childhood dog had managed to weasel its way out from your backyard on that fateful cloudy day. You remember the way the warm wind whipped at your skin, that soon to be familiar feeling in your gut that told you that signaled the inevitable.

It was too late by the time the pet had taken off for the road, where it ended up fatally crushed beneath a moving truck.

You learned not to doubt your ability quickly.

They were triggered by small things, details of everyday life that weren't deeply thought about; like the color of someone's clothes or a certain smell or sound. You knew it was a vision when your nose began to leak blood – which was very inconvenient seeing as though a majority of the time when you’d see things in public.

You'd come to learn that your eyes blur like fog for just a moment until you reconnect with your body. It was a freakish feeling and just downright annoying.

You didn't want to see these things, you didn't want to feel responsible for saving people. It was a hassle, and it was a struggle that all but stole a piece of your soul when it happened. You were isolated and alone, and if that meant keeping others and your mental health safe, then you would just have to grin and bear it.

You just hadn't expected him.

The crosswalks were always somehow crowded in the mornings, a sigh wrenching its way through your lips as you brushed against people.

You were so disoriented when it happened, a single brush to the hand shut your brain down, that sickening feeling of guilt twisting through your nerves.

It was a peculiar scene, one that was dark and eerie, a lingering feeling of danger caught in between the notion that you were not supposed to be there. The house was abandoned and dark, their arms poised outwards like they were holding something. It was as if you were sharing the person's point of view when you were shoved, landing on the ground with a gun pointed at your head.

It didn’t take a genius to guess what happened when your vision went dark. 

You were pulled back into reality with a gasp, a warmth trickling over your lip that was undoubtedly blood. Usually, you wouldn't chase after who the vision pertained to, long sacrificing responsibility, but there was something about it that was just… wrong. Like even your subconscious knowing that, that wasn’t how it was supposed to end for them.

Experiencing your visions took less and less time to register, barely a second had passed before your hand shot out to catch the wrist of the person.

It was connected to a man, a very beautiful man, a man that was now staring at you like you were fucking crazy.

“Ye– oh! Are you alright?!” The man asked in concern, the confusion in his brows dissipating into concern. “Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just… there’ll be a door.”

“A door?” “Yes, a door - fuck - just… just don’t go wherever you are going by yourself. There’s gonna be someone that’s gonna kill you, you need backup. A friend, partner, family, I don’t know just - just don’t go into scary creepy houses by yourself alright? You’re gonna get yourself hurt.”

The man’s mind looked like it was traveling a mile a minute, but you didn’t wait. Releasing your grip on him, you all but shoved past him, digging into your messenger bag for your handy tissues, you found that the crimson liquid had begun to dribble down your chin.

So much for trying to be early.

Spencer’s whole week was thrown off by the random warning that he had received. Now, he’s spoken to many mentally disturbed individuals during his time with the BAU, but nothing has quite stuck with him the way your words did.

Maybe it was because you had looked so frantic when you had approached him, or maybe the fact that there was more blood on your face than what could be considered healthy. It was strange that he had found himself wanting to believe you, because in his line of work, going into scary creepy houses – as you put it – by himself was an incredibly bad idea. 

Spencer has never been the superstitious type; why would he be with the number of scientific discoveries and facts that completely debunked superstitious myths?

But there was something with the way that this scene was playing out in front of him that had struck him as odd.

Flown away to a city state, he and his team were called out to deal with an Unsub that had deluded himself into believing that he was the boogeyman. He killed in the night and lay dormant during the day, but he was accelerating enough that many victims hadn’t made it through the afternoon.

They cracked down on a house where he was determined to be, a decrepit thing that used to be the killer’s childhood home. His team were speaking about how to split up to investigate, and there was basically a boulder in his stomach that told him that that was an extremely bad idea.

“Guys, I don’t think splitting up is a smart idea.” Spencer had found himself interrupting despite the lump in his throat. “I think we should go in pairs; the house has no electricity, which means no light. It would be easy to be blindsided.”

Though Hotch had given him a contemplative look, he had agreed, pairing off the others, Spencer and Derek serving as a duo themselves.

He knew the situation was bad when Derek didn’t talk, creeping through the damp, mold ridden home on high alert. They split off for a moment before joining back together, stopping in front of what was a closed door.

“There’ll be a door… You need backup… Someone that’s gonna kill you…”

Your voice rings through his head like a hit gong.

“Morgan.” He murmured quietly as he approached. When he twisted the knob with the intent to throw it open, someone lunged at him, tackling him to the ground. He doesn’t writhe for long before the unsub is shot, Morgan apprehending the man.

Spencer usually isn’t this dazed after an experience like that, but there was something about this instance that told him that maybe - just maybe - this one had been too close of a call.

And the only thing he could find himself thinking about was how the fuck did you know about all of this? 

A part of him is unsure, cautious of the information that he had just used to basically save his life. You could have manipulated this, sure, but there were so many constantly changing and unexpected variables to this case that it would’ve made it damn near impossible to manipulate everything in your favor.

Which begs the question of who are you? (And how does he thank you?)

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[tongue-like-a-razor]

Never Meant to See You Again

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend, Jake Seresin, confesses how he really feels. Meanwhile, it's raining, so he looks sexy af doing it.

CW: ANGST - sorry, my loves. I know it's Valentine's season but sometimes you just wanna hurt so good.

WC: 1600+

This fic was written for @roosterforme's love is in the air tgm challenge! Inspired by the song I Wish It Would Rain Down by Phil Collins.

Masterlist

“Hey!” you hear the desperation in his voice even with the deafening wind. “Y/N!” he shouts when you don’t stop walking. “Will you just” – he pleads, the sound of his voice growing closer despite your quickening pace – “Just for one second, just” –

You feel his hand close around your arm and you whip your head around. Jake watches you with a grimace as the wind pummels his face. “What?” you ask aggressively.

Jake lets go of you and shrugs, spreading his arms to indicate that he hasn’t thought this far ahead. “We have to coexist, Y/N.”

“Great,” you respond. “Let’s do that.” You start walking again – briskly because the sky is darkening and your hair is starting to escape its bun and swipe violently at your face.

You hear him sighing just before a boom of thunder drowns out his approaching footsteps. He falls in step with you despite you trying to keep your distance. “We’re on the same team,” he says, loudly enough that you can hear him despite the howling wind.

You glance up at him distrustfully as he slows his pace to meet your gaze.

“Y/N,” he starts again.

“Don’t.” You shake your head, tearing your eyes away from his overgrowth of stubble, still walking.

“Look,” he says, taking a hold of your arm again to get your attention. “I know that you don’t need me,” he pauses, watching you steadily. “You don’t need me in your life.” He sighs, regret stealing over his features. “But you might still need me up there.” He points up at the rolling clouds overhead with the same hand that’s holding his helmet, because his other one is still firmly wrapped around your forearm.

You glare at him mutely. Jake Seresin might have been a shitty boyfriend, but he’s a hell of a pilot and you know that he’s right.

Jake lets out a resigned breath. “Wasn’t my idea. I never meant to see you again, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s temporary,” he says and you wonder if he’s referring to the mission you’ve both been called back for or him calling you ‘babe’.

“We should go inside,” you say stoically as the weather that’s put your training on hold for the day deteriorates further.

Jake nods, his eyes still lingering on yours, stalling. He takes a moment to run a hand through his hair, longer these days but no less obnoxiously becoming. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Not now, Seresin,” you say flatly, starting for the hangar again. You feel the first drop of rain land on your forehead.

“Y/N,” he says.

You turn to see him standing there defeatedly, watching you with a miserable expression. You can tell that he’s still hurting and, despite utterly hating his guts, it isn’t easy to see him in pain. The year of distance has tempered your loathing, much to your dismay, and now you find yourself almost feeling sorry for the man. Almost. “Was there something else?” you ask, trying to keep your breathing steady as you meet his gaze.

He gives you a small smile. “Just that, it’s good to see you.”

You exhale sharply as his words send a jolt through your body. “It’s starting to rain,” you state, wavering on the spot while Jake stands perfectly still. Further down the flightline, the maintenance crews are retreating after having secured the last of the equipment before the storm.

Jake takes a step forward while you focus on remaining upright against the gusts of wind. But his growing proximity isn’t helping you feel steady on your feet.

You let him come right up to you before finally taking a step back. “I’m not getting caught out in this storm,” you say, retreating.

Jake glances up at the skies as though he’s welcoming the impending shower. “It’s just a bit of water,” he says as the rain starts coming down harder. “It’ll be over soon enough.”

But he knows as well as you do that you aren’t one to wait around, hoping that the storm will pass. You don’t have that kind of patience. “I can be civil,” you call, walking backward as the downpour intensifies.

Jake watches you through the heavy rain pelting the tarmac. You try to catch your breath as it washes over your face and trickles past the collar of your flight suit, soaking your undershirt. “Me too,” he responds.

You flex your hands, curling them into fists as your pace slows to a halt when you see that Jake isn’t budging. When he finally takes a step forward, you sigh, trying to summon the hatred you once felt toward him. Unfortunately, all you can muster is despair.

Jake is moving slowly, as though he’s half-expecting you to run, but the truth is, you can’t move a muscle because you’re entranced. It’s ridiculous how attractive he looks with rainwater dripping from his soaking hair. He approaches cautiously, his eyes meeting yours as he presses his lips together solemnly. “I let you down,” he says, his eyebrows converging as he frowns. “And I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I know that. I’m not expecting it.”

You clench your teeth to keep your mouth from trembling as your eyes well up. Finally, the pouring rain exhibits an advantage – masking your falling tears.

“But I need you to know that I am sorry,” he continues, his eyes searching your face. “I’m an idiot for ever letting you go.”

You lower your gaze, blinking through the water – whether it’s tears or rain is irrelevant at this point. Jake’s hands come up and he places them on your arms, so gently that you wouldn’t feel them if you weren’t watching them in action. You let out a shaky sigh as he takes another step forward and, when he presses his lips to the top of your head, you squeeze your eyes shut.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes as his mouth moves to your forehead.

You shake your head, lifting your face to grace him with a reproachful look. You’ve spent an entire year getting over him. Twelve months coping with the pain of losing your best friend. Three hundred and sixty-five days adjusting to his absence. And he has the nerve to tell you that he’s missed you? “Come on, Jake,” you say, not quite able to suppress the hint of malice in your tone. “Doesn’t look like this rain is going to be letting up anytime soon.”

Jake studies your face. “One day, maybe.”

You scoff. “Meanwhile, it’s getting uncomfortable.”

Jake smiles sadly. “I don’t mind it,” he says. “As long as I’m with you.”

You take a step back. “You’re not.”

“I know.”

You let out another frustrated sigh but you can’t seem to hold it together any longer. Dropping your helmet into the puddle at your feet, you break down in tears.

Immediately, Jake closes the gap between the two of you and takes your face in his hands, his eyes flitting between yours urgently despite the wall of rain between you. “Please don’t,” he begs, his face contorted as he tries to hold back tears of his own. “Please.” He rests his forehead over yours.

You push at him and back away. “Then stop!” you yell, your words barely audible over the pouring rain. “Stop making me hurt!”

Jake bows his head, running a hand over his face as his shoulders start to shake. When he glances up at you, his eyes are red and shining. “I can’t stop, Y/N,” he croaks, his voice breaking when he says your name. “I love you.”

You roll your eyes and let out a spiteful laugh but, when Jake steps forward again, cupping his hands around your cheeks, you bite into your bottom lip, falling silent.

“You might not need me anymore,” he says, “but I still need you. And I know that’s selfish, and I know that it’s never gonna happen, but I’m not gonna stand here and pretend to be okay. I’m not okay.”

You watch him solemnly, trying to subdue the trembling of your body. Whether it’s the rain or his words causing you to vibrate uncontrollably is anybody’s guess.

“I’m never getting over you,” he whispers, his lips hovering just over your mouth.

It’s taking all of your strength to hold back a sob; to keep from falling into his arms and letting him shelter you from the rain. Jake has always been an expert at testing your self-control. “We should go,” you mutter. “Before this storm gets any worse.”

Jake sighs over your lips. “It’s just rain, baby,” he whispers. “It’s always gonna pass.”

You close your eyes, feeling yourself submitting to his pull. “It’s getting cold,” you counter.

“I can warm you,” he breathes.

And suddenly, you’re letting out a whimper and grabbing a hold of his flight suit and drawing him impossibly close. At the same time, Jake lifts your face, finally locking his lips with yours. His kiss is so needy, so fevered that it’s making your head spin. His hands leave your face as he wraps his arms around your neck, moving further into you as your fingers clasp behind his back, squeezing him against your body.

You aren’t thinking about the past when his tongue is pushing urgently against your own. You aren’t thinking about the future when your palms travel up his chest, slipping up the wet skin of his neck until your hands are on his face, your fingers stroking the stubble on his jawline. The storm is far from over but perhaps you’ve got what it takes to ride it out.

Jake clutches your waist as he layers your mouth with kiss after kiss. “Oh, baby,” he mutters apologetically. “Baby, I swear I never meant to see you again.”

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[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 1

Part (1) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Warnings: Back to some good, ol' whump here. Minor ptsd, blood, broken nose, needles, profanity

WC: 3,183

“Damn it, get down!!”

“I am! Any lower and I'll need a kriffing shovel!” I snapped back, tempted to mute him just to hear myself think.

“I’ve got eyes on her, Cross; just focus on finding us a way in!” Even Echo's voice held the faintest rush of unease.

We'd known this wouldn't be easy. They'd caught someone – some big-name politician I hadn't made much effort to remember, but the Republic deemed them important enough to send us behind enemy lines to get them back.

The Marauder lay hidden nearly a dozen klicks away, nestled amidst brambles and fallen logs until even I struggled to notice it. We’d stolen a pair of Separatist transports to approach the black ops site without raising much suspicion and split up to search the compound faster. Tech and Wrecker infiltrated the northern side, Echo and I came in from the south, and Hunter was on his own along the crumbling remains of the eastern wall with Crosshair posted in the nearby tree line. He’d violently opposed my going in, but we had no means of knowing what kind of state our target would be in when we found them.

The politician was the least of my concerns, though. I’d been on edge since entering those transports. The ping of the metal walkways against our boots, the hum of the engine, even the color of the walls… it was just too similar. But were weren't on Agamar, and I hated how softly the others were stepping around me. I hated even more the undeniable knowledge that I needed them to.

That tension hadn’t lessened as we reached the Separatist black site. It looked abandoned; scarce buildings in such a perfect state of intentional disarray as to almost promise nothing but ancient debris and decades of dust lay within, but Tech's scans confirmed massive power fluctuations underground. It wasn't a huge compound, but it didn't need to be. Barely a half dozen structures remained standing, skeletal framework partially hidden by an overgrowth we now used to our own advantage as we crawled through the dense brush, thorns somehow numerous enough and sharp enough to occasionally find purchase in the slim crescents of skin left unprotected between sections of armor.

Echo and I had just finished sweeping through the second building in search of an entrance to the lower level when the site’s defenses suddenly roared to life. Numerous turrets burst from the soil that, mere seconds prior has shown no trace of anything beyond untouched wilds, and we’d just managed to hide behind a partially caved-in room before being noticed.

I could hear dozens of gears whirring to life just beyond our dilapidated shelter, the harsh crunch of leaves and branches breaking beneath heavy, metallic feet. Droids were flooding the site. We were pinned down by the turrets. And Hunter wasn’t answering his com.

“Can we make it to the next structure?” Echo asked, voice forced into a whisper.

“Not yet.” There was a long moment of silence, and I could feel myself tensing more with each passing second, legs coiled beneath me. “Now!” We were moving before the hushed order fell silent, both crouched so low that we were practically crawling, one hand occasionally darting to the ground in a gate more natural to some forest dwelling beast, but our awkward appearance didn't matter. The half dozen droids mere meters to our right posed little threat in and of themselves, but revealing our presence now might cause untold numbers to swarm. If they had Hunter, our only hope to free him was to keep ourselves hidden.

My legs burned from the effort of keeping up with Echo. He moved as though he’d been born for such things, body stalking preternaturally through tall grass and biting bramble effortlessly, but I still found myself watching him, worried I'd note some hint of a falter in his stride, but whatever strain the motion surely wrought upon his residual limbs was a torture to which he was far too accustomed to show amidst the threat lingering over us.

“Down!” We dropped harshly to the ground, and my every instinct balked at the helpless position. Mere seconds passed before the almost musical chorus of shifting counterweights and metallic limbs raced through the foliage just feet ahead of us. Droidekas. The nervous tension dancing beneath my skin turned to dread in an instant, ice bursting through my chest in a rush of panic. I didn't want to notice the way Echo glanced back toward me, the depth of concern that tiny movement conveyed. The droid presence was no longer a simple annoyance. We were in danger.

Was Crosshair switching between com channels to warn Tech and Wrecker lest their chatter create a lethal distraction? Were they balancing the risk of striking first versus continuing what felt like a doomed plight to remain unnoticed? My lungs ached from the effort of controlling each breath, body eager to fall into the too tempting frenzy of fear.

Echo’s hand flared out, signaling me to move around his left flank before readying his pistol, attention trained toward the sound of machinery falling into formation. I knew at least fifteen meters still lay between us and the next building; knew that he was purposefully placing himself between me and the enemy units; that, even among this squad of elites, Echo was the most capable soldier I could hope to have guarding my back, but, still, I had to grind my teeth against useless objections, abhorred at the very thought of letting him act either as distraction or delay if we were seen.

That fear surged anew at every shuffle of leaves and snap of twigs as I crawled forward, stealing one final glance just as I passed him. He couldn’t see the plea in my eyes, the order begging to scream from lips carefully trapped between ground teeth that he not put himself in danger, but he didn’t have to. With the smallest movement, he looked toward me in kind and offered the faintest nod, and that tiny gesture was enough to push me on.

He waited until several feet separated us before he started after me, and something about that, about knowing he was following just behind me granted me a confidence I had no right feeling, determination numbing me to the burn in my arms as I hauled myself through an undergrowth that showed no sign of the wear it ought to have from the abuse of concealing a Separatist base.

When the ridge of a tattered roof finally jutted above the line of greenery, I couldn’t restrain the deep sigh of relief, but I had to remind myself that any façade of safety feigned by the crumbling walls granted only a fool’s comfort and forced myself to pause just shy of the entrance. Echo didn’t stop until he was nearly flush against my side, and we both waited with bated breath.

“Tech and Wrecker found an entrance. If you don’t find one in there, stay hidden until they report back.” Crosshair’s voice fell into a carefully detached hum. I wanted to respond, to offer some reassurance, but we couldn’t risk even that, so I merely watched in silence as Echo took point once more, waiting for his signal before following him into the derelict structure.

Once, it stood a couple stories high, brick walls more akin to a school than a prison, but there was no sign of such possibilities within any longer. Nature had reclaimed the half-dozen rooms and interconnecting hallways long ago. Ferns draped through shattered windows, and mounds of dirt collected in the corners reached halfway to the ceilings. There was no broken furniture nor remnants of belongings hidden amidst the rubble, and I found myself wondering if it had ever been anything more than this. Had the Separatists built it solely to be abandoned; its fate preordained to ruin from the start purely to act as camouflage for what horrors lay below? I wanted to hate them for it but knew it was fueled by naivety; knew that far more had been wasted for less in this war on both sides and that even more would be lost before there would be any hope of armistice.

Only after Echo stood did I move to regain my footing as well, body still hunched forward in that instinctive drive to hide as we searched each room in turn. When he paused in what must have been the central chamber, attention trained in the corner just to the right of the doorway, I stepped back toward the hall, carefully watching for any signs of encroaching danger, my own pistols at the ready.

“We’re heading in.” Echo stated seconds before the hiss of an airlock screamed through the tense silence.

“Copy.” Crosshair replied shortly. He hated this. I knew he hated this: being forced to wait behind as we tread beyond his sight, beyond his reach should something go wrong, and my heart ached knowing there was no comfort I could offer as I turned to follow his brother down the narrow porthole into what was surely a maze of identical passages designed to be inescapable.

No veneer of color was granted to bare metal walls and exposed purlins overhead, and what few lights flickered within granted only fleeting glimpses of the lifeless passageways. This place was not created for comfort. Every detail was made through cruel intent to rob those trapped here of even the thought of warmth, and I couldn’t force the memory of that filth-stained cell from my mind; the scent of stale moisture and blood and rot.

My stride must have faltered; my pace slowed or breath hitched. Something drew Echo’s attention back to me, and shame sank into my gut like something rancid and squirming, and I couldn’t find the strength to push it back in time to dismiss it entirely.

“You alright?” He whispered it, body leaning carefully over mine as though he could hide me from the nightmare surrounding us, and I hated the fact that I couldn’t bring myself to answer him directly.

“Let’s just get Hunter and the damn politician, and get out of here.” I nearly growled. He hesitated a moment longer, and I wanted to yell; to shout that there wasn’t time for this, to berate myself for causing even this short delay, shoulders pulling back with a determination fueled by the rage I felt toward myself for my weakness. He drew a slow breath before wrenching his focus back toward the long hallway, and a shaky sigh of relief escaped me.

I wouldn’t have noticed the port had Echo not stopped suddenly beside it, needing only to shoot a quick look for me to take watch as he plugged himself in. There was no cover here, nowhere we could hide if a patrol came upon us, and each second we lingered stoked the anxious certainty that we were moments from being found, but I didn’t waver, attention shifting between the direction we’d come from and the path ahead.

“Tech, Wrecker; looks like the target’s in the far west corner. Are you guys near there?”

“We are.” Tech responded quickly. “Have you located Hunter?”

“No, but we’ll head east and see what we can find.” My heart dropped at Echo’s response, and I fought to convince myself that that didn’t mean they didn’t have him; that didn’t mean he was…

Echo disconnected from the port, and I forced myself back to attention. He didn’t say anything more before continuing forward at a quick trot, weapon held loosely before him. Our footsteps boomed around us, mocking our every attempt at quiet. We slowed at every intersection, carefully searching down each hall before crossing. It was a perfect grid, an even number of paces separating each corner for what felt like eternity.

I heard it first. It was wet. An occasional crunch of metal against meat. I knew that sound. I knew the heat of abused flesh swelling beneath the assault; knew they would kill him long before he talked.

My hand was reaching for him before consciously acknowledging the movement; a quick tap on Echo’s shoulder singling him to stop. He needed only to pause before he heard it, too, and I watched his body tense as he reached the same conclusion I had, breath quickening beneath a flare of rage and dread. Without a word, we took off toward the wretched sound. There was a rhythm to it. Two strikes and a pause. Two strikes. Pause. I couldn’t hear what they asked in those fleeting seconds between, but my mind wouldn’t let it remain quiet long enough to wonder.

Who ordered the hit?

I swallowed back the bile that tasted too akin to rancid water.

We barely slowed at crossings now, nearly sprinting through the underground base.

Who placed the bombs?

Two strikes. I could hear him cough in the brief silence that followed, heard the splatter of liquid against metal and knew it was blood.

Echo looked over his shoulder to catch my gaze, to make sure I was ready, before tearing through the door. An alarm blared. The lights flashed a deep red that paled beneath the blue of our blaster fire filling the small cell. His armor was gone, blacks torn where they’d snagged on metal fists. I didn’t count them, nor did I need my overlay’s targeting system as Echo and I stormed the room, both strafing the enemy units in a frenzied rush.

I vaguely noticed the lethal elegance of the man beside me as he dove between a pair of B2s, rolling to his feet behind them, pistol already raised and firing before he’d come to a stop. I ducked to the side just as another droid raised its arm, the wall behind me hissing as metal melted beneath the powerful, crimson shots. It didn’t get the chance to fire again, and I watched with eager satisfaction as the towering machine fell heavily to the floor.

It took mere seconds. I didn’t have time to find a new target before Echo felled the few remaining enemies, sparing only a fleeting thought toward a figure among the metal corpses that was far too soft to belong among the droids, nor did I pause to wonder if it had been my shot or Echo’s that claimed their life. Whoever they were, I was too happy to leave them to rot among the destruction they sowed, attention training instead on Hunter.

Already, Echo was working to sever the bounds securing his wrists to the metal slab behind him, and I rushed forward to catch him as his first arm fell free, wincing at the stifled groan my touch drew from him.

“T… took yuh… long ‘nough.” He slurred, jaw barely moving around the strained words.

“Not our fault you let yourself get caught at a kriffing black site.” Echo retorted, already working on his other wrist.

“S… st’nned m…” His reply broke into an agonizing flurry of coughs, thick drops of crimson smearing across my chest plate.

“Alright, enough – you can make all the excuses you want after I patch you up,” I interrupted, a gentle warning in my hushed voice, “For now, just try to slow your breathing and stay awake, alright?” His head shifted toward me in silent consent, and my worry spiked. He was barely recognizable from the sickeningly wrong angle of his nose, and already his eyes were nearly swollen shut. His ribs were far worse off, however. I could see the heavy bruising through tears in his shirt, could hear the rattle in his every hitched, shallow breath.

“I presume the alarm indicates that you’ve found Hunter?” Tech asked just as the other shackle clicked open. Hunter fell against me with a choked grunt, and I tried not to imagine the pain shooting through his torso.

“Easy; just sit back.” I murmured softly, carefully guiding him to the ground.

“Yeah. He’s hurt, but Doc’s with him.” Echo responded, already treading back toward the door to watch for incoming troops. He paused briefly at the figure lying amongst the droids, but I didn’t see what he did, attention devoted to helping the wheezing man before me.

“Hunter, I want you to focus on me for a bit, okay?” My voice left in a whisper void of the urgency with which I dug through my bag. He hummed some manner of a reply, but I couldn’t make out anything akin to actual speech.

“We located the prisoner, but… it seems we were only given a portion of the information regarding this mission.” I had to stifle a surge of frustration that I could hear mirrored in Tech’s clipped statement as my scanner buzzed to life.

“Great.” Echo groaned.

“We’ll rendezvous at the Marauder and discuss how to proceed. Crosshair, is-” He was interrupted by a violent shockwave tearing through the base.

“That… wasn’t me.” Wrecker said hesitantly after a moment of tense silence.

“All clear.” I nearly scoffed at the haughty pride in Crosshair’s voice before returning my attention to the scan results, stomach twisting as I read over his injuries.

“Looks like you’re gonna live, Sarg.” I managed to tease softly despite my own dread, earning a groan heavy with mock disappointment. “You’re going to be pissing blood for a week, though.” He let out an even less thrilled grunt that drew a quiet chuckle from me. “How about I get some pain killers in you, and you let me help you back to the ship?” His eyelids shifted but weren’t able to fully open. Still, he offered no objection when I laid an autoinjector against his neck, and my worry grew at how quickly his body went limp.

“How is he?” Echo asked, voice tense as he walked back toward us. My gaze caught on a sack thrown over his shoulder. “His armor.” He explained, much to my relief. They hadn’t had him long, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that they wouldn’t have had time to dispose of it, but it was still a stroke of luck that he was able to find it so easily.

“He’ll be alright… but we should hurry.” Even through our opaque visors, I knew he felt the intensity with which I held his gaze, that he understood the truth behind my carefully even reply. He gave a small nod and dropped to a knee at Hunter’s other side.

“Hey, brother, think you can hold on to me?” My lips pulled into a small smile at the gentleness of Echo’s deep voice, the care in his movements as he eased Hunter’s arm over his shoulders. I threw my bag back on and followed suit with his other arm.

“Mmm… m’alri’.” His dismissal faded into a barely audible mumble as we pulled him upright, head slumping toward his chest.

“Those drugs won’t last long.” I warned quietly. Again, Echo responded with a short nod, and, together, we began the lock trek back toward an exit I doubted I’d ever find without him.

Next Chapter

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[delicatefade]

WIP Wed: "I don't love it?"

Another wed, another excerpt from my kissy kissy elves draft. Dragon age setting, but it’s all OCs. My OC is Eilan Lavellan and @bluewren’s OC is Lex Lavellan.

Lex had been gone for 7 months. He returned earlier that day. He and Eilan spent the day with their clan. This is their first evening together, alone. CW: Kissy wissy? Questionable facial hair? WIP Wed tagging @inquisimer @bluewren @mrslyncx @breninarthur @nirikeehan@theluckywizard@monocytogenes@sunshowerdandelion@narravero@varric-tethras-editor@melisusthewee@rosella-writes@warpedlegacywrites wc: 622

Unwed Dalish youths were not given tents. They had to make do with nature’s hidden alcoves. Luckily, Lex and Eilan knew just the spot, the very same clearing in the woods that had witnessed their love blossom a year ago. The walk from camp to the clearing would have taken all of ten minutes were it not for their frequent stops. “Gods I missed your touch,” she whispered. Their lips were raw from kissing. He had her pinned against a tree, his body pressed against hers.

He cupped her face in one hand — she loved it when he did that. He must have known for he did it often. Lex looked at her like she was the most precious and beautiful thing he had ever seen, though he had never said as much in so many words. She told herself that if forced to choose between that look or those words, she would choose that look. His thumb tugged on her lower lip. She mewled softly. His hands fumbled with the layers she wore. Their breaths made little plumes in the frost of early spring. “The clearing,” she panted, cheek to cheek. Twenty minutes and four amorous detours later, they reached the clearing. Tempting as it may have been to tear off each other’s clothes and make love with abandon, they had learned after many months of meeting in the wilds in all kinds of weather that a little preparation went a long way. The ground had not yet thawed. The night would plummet into a chill. The forest’s proximity to a shemlen city meant that precautions needed to be taken against potential human threats. They worked together to prepare the camp. Lex set down a thick mat to shield them from the cold earth. Eilan contributed an extra wide scarf that doubled as a blanket. Their old fire pit was still there, though a little worse for wear. Lex tended to it, commanding the overgrowth to clear with an arcane whisper. As he did so, Eilan activated the warding runes that they had carved a year ago into the trees that ringed the clearing. She thought of making a joke, that they should get married if only to claim a tent at camp and make love whenever they wished. She thought better of it. Lex lit the fire pit with a burst of magic. The flames roared and burned without fuel. He sat on the mat and guided Eilan to sit astride his lap. In the firelight they looked at each other, smitten anew. He tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. That enamored look returned to his eyes. “What?” she said coyly. “What?” He smiled at her flirtation. “That look.” “What look?” She shrugged one shoulder cheekily. “That look.” Lex tipped his head to the side, seemingly confused. Eilan’s brows lifted expectantly, as if by pretending that what she spoke of were obvious would make it so. Lex chuckled. “What, babe?” Never mind. She relaxed out of her expectant posture and masked her disappointment by stroking the patchy stubble on his chin. “What about this?” He rubbed the thin wisp of hair. “I’m thinking of growing it out.” Elves were not known for their ability to grow facial hair, and Lex, for all his talents and looks, was no exception. “Oh!” Her smile froze in place. “Really?” “Woooow! You hate it!” Lex laughed. “No-no! Well, it’s just that—” “Oh you really, really hate it.” Eilan winced and confessed regretfully, “I don’t love it?” He laughed harder. “Alright, miss hard-to-impress. Message received. Let’s see what you think of your gifts.” “Gifts, plural.” “Mhm.” He wagged his brows triumphantly as he pulled his pack closer. “Okay, gift number one.”

[piesti-cats]

Update

So my plans for this blog have taken the back burner because of craziness in life, etc etc HOWEVER. I have pursued writing my fanfic over the past like two years and have decided to just make a blog dedicated to it. The first part is completely posted to ao3 but I will also be working on uploading it to tumblr over the next couple days, then updating it with the second part as it’s being written. I’ll be keeping everything pertaining to the story on the side blog, including any doodles I do, and keep this blog just for canon warriors stuff. I’ll occasionally be active on here when I do canon stuff but for now I’m focusing on my own ocs and story.

TL;DR, I created an OC blog for my fanfic here, @overgrowth-wc. Feel free to check it out!

[odiwtbl]

Not My Pool | Eddie Munson

Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: None really. Slight swearing? Trespassing?

Author's note: trying to make up for the lil sad Eddie piece from yday :) Also I’m still not used to writing for Eddie so idk if it’s any good. Also also, not beta’d

Wc: 2215

---

“Eddie are you sure this is a good idea?” You hissed as you snuck closer to the treeline.

It was the first week of summer and Eddie, your best friend, had somehow convinced you to literally trespass and sneak into Steve Harrington’s pool. The woods you were both running through were dark, everything was quiet except the low hum of the nighttime bugs, adrenaline softly running through you gradually getting more intense the closer you got to the other boy's house.

The soft lights from the pool shone through the gaps in the trees before you, blacking out Eddie’s silhouette. “Stop being such a pussy, come on” The metalhead urged. He turned and reached out behind him, grabbing your upper arm and pulling you forward so you were next to him. His hand moved down your arm to your hand, intertwining his fingers with your own.

“What if his parents catch us? What if they call the police?” You rambled, butterflies making a home in your stomach.

Eddie just turned to face you, half of his face lit up in the soft blue light. He grinned at you, eyebrows raised, eyes shining. “Then we run.”

The small town of Hawkins had been suspended in a thick heat for the past month now. The kind of heat that constantly lingers no matter what you do to try and alleviate it, which is the only reason you had agreed to Eddie’s stupid plan, but that was thirty minutes ago, and this is now, and only now are you realising how dumb this is.

Eddie had been getting you into trouble for the past year since you joined Hellfire, and since you had become good friends. It was known that if Eddie was somewhere, you were close by, ‘like an Ettin’ Dustin and Mike would always say. The boy had brought you so far out of your comfort zone. You weren’t super shy, to begin with, but compared to Eddie Munson you may as well have been a dormouse. An unexpected friendship bloomed between the two of you, no one in Hellfire truly expected it, and neither did you or Eddie; but opposites do attract, apparently.

Stumbling your way through the last bit of overgrowth, the two of you reached the soft grass of Steve’s garden, the pool only a few metres away. The lights weren’t on in the house, 3 am wasn’t the typical time the Harrington family were up and about. Eddie dropped your hand, instead reaching for the hem of his Guns N Roses tee, pulling it over his head and fluffing up his hair in the process. You giggled as he shook his head back and forth, trying to lay his curly hair back into place. “How do I look, M’lady?” His eyes gleamed at you, a soft smirk appearing on his lips.

You huffed out a laugh, “Like a dumbass.” You jabbed, playfully shoving his shoulder. Eddie feigned hurt, holding his hand over his chest. He took a step toward you. Then another. And another, and before you could react he had scooped you up and walked you over to the edge of the pool. “Eddie, don’t you dare!” You looped your arms around his neck as a safety measure, but pulled back to look at his face.

“Tell me I look handsome.” Eddie flashed you a mischievous grin.

“Nuh uh. No way,” You shook your head, “Bribery isn’t the way to go Munson.”

He held your body out over the pool. “Just tell me what I wanna hear and nobody has to get wet.”

“Eddie I am not playing. I don’t wanna get my jeans wet!”

“Then say the words, princess.” He fake dropped you by an inch, laughing at your squealing.

“Fine! Fine! You look handsome, Eddie Munson.” You deadpanned.

“Oh come on, you can do better than that.” You glared at him while he only smiled back at you with all his teeth on show.

“…You are the most handsomest, most beautiful, most amazing person in this stupid town,” You raised your eyebrows at him, “Better?”

“Much”. Eddie spun around and placed you down on the ground, turning back to the pool to step out of his own jeans. An idea presented itself to you, one that would have been criminal if missed. You reached out and tapped Eddie’s shoulder, making him look at you, and as he did so you pushed his shoulder once more, harder this time, till he tipped back and fell in the pool.

He resurfaced, hair stuck to him, a look of shock on his face. “You little minx.” You just shrugged over him, returning the playful grin he had given you earlier.

“Game’s a game, Munson.” You pulled your own clothes off, top first, and then shimmied out of your jeans, leaving you in your underwear, his gaze on you the entire time. “You can stop staring though.”

Eddie chuckled, pushing himself softly to the edge of the pool. “Game’s a game.”

You sat down, your legs next to him in the water, Eddie leant on his arm looking up at you. “Are you coming in or what?” You looked up at the stars, a content sigh left your lips. This is where you want to be. Now and forever. “What’s got you looking like that?” Eddie poked your thigh causing goosebumps to rise at his touch.

You slid yourself over the edge and into the pool, with a little less than a splash, treading the water and turning yourself so you were face to face with the boy.

“I’m just… really happy right now.” You looked at the boy opposite you. Like, really looked at him. The bottom parts of his hair were floating in the water, the rest of it damp and strung around his face. The lights in the pool lit up his flyaways, creating a blue halo around Eddie. Drops of water clung to his skin, on his face and down onto his collarbones. His freckles were more prominent now from the days spent out in the sun together. You could see his eyes tracing over your face, the hint of a smile lingering on his lips.

“Are you looking at my lips, y/l/n?” You watched as his smile grew.

“Why did you have to ruin the moment, Eddie? It was about to get deep, I could feel it.” You laughed.

“Yeah well, I’ll ruin any moment if it means I get to see you laugh.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Jerk.”

“Idiot.”

“You love me.”

“Do I, Eddie?”

“Yes.”

“And you’d know that how?”

“Because I see the way you look at me.”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of your body. Like you were choking on the pool water without even being submerged. “I-I don’t- I, uh-” You stammered.

“Am I wrong?” Eddie just looked at you, plain and simple. Normally you could read every emotion that crossed his mind, but as of right now there was nothing to go off of. You couldn’t even hazard a guess.

“O-of course, I love you, Eddie. You’re like, my best friend?” You laughed it off, even though you could feel your cheeks heating up.

Eddie tilted his head, one eyebrow raised, staring down into your eyes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He waited a few seconds, each one that passed felt like an hour to you. He moved his hand to your chin, lifting your face to look at him. Your heart hammered in your chest, soft waves of adrenaline passed through you. “If I’m wrong I’ll drop it. Just, tell me I’m wrong.” He spoke softly.

You looked at the man in front of you. The man you had been looking at for past year. The man that had helped you learn D&D, the man that had brought you out of your comfort zone more than anyone had, the man that had taught you how to really have fun. The memories of you both laughing together flashed through your minds eye, you could see the time you had watched Nightmare on Elm Street and it ended up in you throwing popcorn at each other in his trailer. Or the time you had gone to Starcourt and Eddie stole some twizzlers for you. Or the first time you stayed back and helped him pack up after a long D&D session and he drove you home, leaving you with an Iron Maiden cassette to listen to.

“Eddie.. I- I don’t know what to say.” You frowned lightly.

“Nah it’s cool, my bad.” Eddie dropped his hand from your face, and pushed himself off the wall of the pool, and away from you. “I shouldn’t have assumed!” He called out from the opposite side.

Your shoulders dropped, a soft sigh escaping your body. “Eddie, can you come back here.” He looked at you for a beat, before dipping under the water. What a child, you thought to yourself.

You pushed yourself off from the wall also, following suit, and diving under the water towards him. Eddie was sat cross legged at the bottom of the pool, cheeks puffed out filled with air. His hair was drifting up around him, making you giggle slightly. You swam forward, kicking your legs to reach him faster.

You sat opposite him underwater, just looking at each other. Everything around you was blue, Eddie’s entire warm colour palette taken over by the colour. You reached out and pushed his cheeks together, the air he held in them rushing out in bubbles to the surface, but he stayed at the bottom staring at you. Using your whole body, you mimed a huff, emphasising the action so he could understand your annoyance.

Reaching out and grabbing both of his hands, you kicked up and pulled the both of you to the surface. The two of you gasped for air as you broke from the water. “Can you just- listen to me.” You panted.

Eddie nodded, but looked everywhere but your face. This time you reached forward and grabbed his chin, pulling his face to look at you. “That’s better.” You flashed him a sarcastic smile. “Eddie, I don’t know what to say, because I’m not- I- I don’t. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to me.” Eddie’s expression grew quizzical, but he didn’t speak, allowing you to continue talking. “I’m just… me. And I’ve never had anyone like me. Not even in that way! I didn’t have friends before Hellfire, I didn’t have a best friend before you, I didn’t know what it was like to have people just, like me. And I think you’re amazing, and so funny, and really cool but-”

“-But I’m Eddie Munson.” He cut you off.

“-But you’re the Eddie Munson. And I think I do like you in that way, but I’m scared that I’m not enough for you.” You finished, still holding onto his face, but now you were looking down.

A small silence fell over the both of you, the night air filling the space. The sound of the water filter running in the back the only prominent noise that could be heard. Your heart rate was picking up again, that adrenaline filling your veins once more. You shivered as the night air cooled off some of the water on your skin. The time passing was unbearable but you were too scared to move, to say anything more. You didn’t want to ruin anything. But before you could think of anything else Eddie began to speak. “I’m Eddie the Freak,” You looked up at him, it looked like he could start crying at any moment, “and you’re- you’re you.” It was your turn to look at him in confusion now, “You’re this pure creature that fell into my path, and don’t get me wrong I’m so happy you’re not, but I thought you’d be long gone by now. I didn’t want to, corrupt you, ruin you. I just wanted you to be happy. And then you stuck around, and I got to know you and-” He cut himself off.

A few hot tears had fallen over your cheeks. You didn’t know why you were crying, but something in you just felt so loved.

“Can I kiss you?” Eddie pulled himself closer to you, until your bodies were against each other under the water.

You didn’t reply, instead just closing the gap between you, your lips centimetres apart. You could feel Eddie’s breath fanning across you face, and you were fairly certain you could hear his heart pounding. Or maybe it was yours, you were too spaced out to care.

Eddie moved the rest of the way, placing his lips over yours. It was soft and sweet, and you could feel everything that he wanted to say, that he didn’t have to now. You smiled against him, moving your arms to rest on the sides of his neck. He pulled back and leant his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes, that mischievous look back where it belongs.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but just as he started all of the back porch lights flicked on.

“HEY! GET OUT OF MY POOL BEFORE I CALL THE COPS!”

“We should run.”

---

[misspearly1]

Millers Retreat

Chapter Three

Chp1 || Chp2 || Chp3 || Chp4 || Chp 5 ||

Pairing: Joel Miller x Y/N (f!reader)

WC: 4k

Warnings: Not a whole lot for warnings. A little bit of Fluff. Definitely angsty vibes & dark themes surrounding the story to 'Bobby' which in turn makes the Miller's a little sad. There's not a whole lot mention Y/N in thus one peeps, more focus on The Miller brothers.

AN: Okay, in regards to the warnings above, this fic is practically a look into the work that Tommy and Joel are doing, it's not all doom and gloom, the angsty stuff is towards the end. I promise we will get to all of the fluffy/smutty parts in the next chapter. Hope you enjoy, my lovelies <33

It’s currently day three into Joel’s and Tommy’s ‘fishing trip’, their last day, and the work still continues, but let’s look back at what they’ve accomplished so far.

Day One

On the first day, it took the brothers a lot longer than they anticipated to get the thick green vines off the two stationary homes properly, even then, the dug well and the surrounding area was heavily covered too, so that took up even more of their time.

Tommy had come across an old newspaper clipping inside the overgrowth, dated back twenty years ago with the heading of ‘Evacuation Procedures Now Underway; death toll in the thousands.’

The brothers looked at that clipping and remembered that some towns and cities got a heads up before the virus hit, unfortunately most didn’t. And it seems as though the town nearby got that heads up and considering Bobby had the newspaper clipping here, Joel wondered if the man left with his family when it was advised.

This place certainly looked like someone had left in a hurry, or as if a storm of infected had blown through it. Pocketing that clipping along with the postcard that he found on the tree, Joel and Tommy shoved their thoughts aside for now and got back to work.

After they had hacked away at every possible blockage covering the caravans, the older Miller put on his garden gloves and began piling it all up to be discarded, grabbing handfuls in his hands and transporting it to a large pile just outside of camp.

As the area around the caravans started to become clearer, he noticed something else under one of them. It was a book, a journal. Pulling it out and reading the cover, Robert Kennedy, the diary belonged to none other than Bobby himself.

Joel didn’t bother opening it up to read the contents inside, but he didn’t throw it away either, instead, he left it to one side to maybe read later and got back to work again. Once his task at hand was dealt with, they both moved on to thoroughly searching all four caravans, to gather up everything that is useful.

One of the caravans that was under the ivy was locked tight and the brothers couldn’t get it open. It was nearing midnight and they left it for now, deciding that they would come back to it the next day.

They both felt accomplished for all the work they had done today, especially after seeing all the difference they have made. Today, they had found three artefacts of information about Bobby and this caravan site, cleared up all the ivy and rubbish in the camp, uncovered the water well, which was sealed, and the place was looking a hell of a lot better since this morning.

So, at eleven pm at night, Tommy and Joel finally sat down after tending to the horses.

Joel did end up getting that chair from Tommy. He sat on it, feet kicked up on the table with a smug smirk to his face and a small fire in the middle of camp. They were tired and hungry, exhausted after the day's activities but it could either only get worse or easier from this point onwards.

Tommy grabbed the bubbling pot from the fire over to where his brother was sitting, he had cooked some tinned meaty soups, quick and easy to whip up and eat along with a few cut up slices of bread that he brought from home.

They both ate in silence, underestimating how hungry they actually are and while soup can sometimes be boring, this soup tasted delicious. After they ate, Joel grabbed his walkie to have a quick goodnight call with his girl, Y/N.

“Baby, it’s me Joel. Are you awake?” He started off the conversation, standing up from his chair and patting his brother on the shoulder to say goodnight then headed into one of the only two habitable caravans in camp.

“Hey, love, yeah I am. Barely, but I’m awake,” her voice croaked through the walkie tiredly after a few moments. Joel didn’t mean to leave it so late at night, he and his brother got carried away with the work, wanting to get a huge chunk done on their first day.

“I’m sorry, girl, I didn’t wake you up did I?” He plopped down on the edge of the bed, kicking off his shoes and tossing himself back with a wide smile across his face. It was comfy and her voice was homey to his ears. Joel missed Y/N at that moment and he expressed that to her in between a yawn, “I’m laying down right now, wish you were here with me darlin.”

There was a couple seconds that passed before she came back through the walkie, giggling, “You made me yawn too, but no, you didn’t wake me,” Joel smiled on this side, waiting for her to reposition herself in bed after clearly hearing her shuffle around in the sheets, “I miss you too, handsome. How’s it going out there?”

Doing the same thing as Y/N, Joel repositioned himself in his bed and got under the covers, wishing that he could tell her exactly how things are going out here, but he lied again, “Really good. We caught some steelhead and ate it tonight for dinner. How’s things over there?” He tried to steer the topic of conversation.

Y/N, as well as Joel, was in a position of wanting to tell the truth, but she made a promise to Maria not to say anything yet about Tommy, and she lied too, “The usual, baby. Tea with Maria this morning, I cleared up some of the weeds from the garden and fed the plants,” Joel listened to her voice trailing off about all the things she has done today, making him miss home that much more.

Bringing his hand up behind his head, he rested the walkie on his chest with closed eyes, smiling whilst picturing her face telling him all of this. She finished off with a question, asking Joel if he is staying safe out here, to which he replied saying, “Always, babydoll.”

They chatted more over the radio, sinking further into the mattress and warming up under the covers, until Y/N yawned again and Joel looked at his watch, seeing as the time was nearing one am now, he suggested that they get themselves to sleep.

It took a further half hour for either of them to finish up the call, not wanting to be the last one to say goodnight and after setting the walkie down by his side, he thought that the conversation was over with, but his lady wanted to have the last say and her sweet voice crackled through, whispering, “I love you, Joel Miller.”

He chuckled to himself, mumbling into the covers that he loves her too and turned over to get some sleep. If he picked up that walkie, they wouldn’t ever get off the call, he knows that as well as her.

Day Two

On day two of their trip, Joel and Tommy started their day with bagging up all of the rubbish that was left in a pile at the side of camp and taking it far enough away. Just a quick fix for now, but they do need to find a solid way to rid the rubbish properly for future vacations.

It was roughly a fifteen minute walk outside of camp that they took, coming across a spot to lay out the piles of rubbish that they were dragging along, it was a large clearing inside the thick canopy of trees, and as the men came to a stop, they thought the wave-like sound was from the wind blowing, but it wasn’t. It was water.

Leaving the rubbish where they stood, Joel and Tommy followed the sounds until they came across a river but that wasn’t all they found. The brothers were overjoyed to also find a waterfall. They’ve uncovered another water source, a place to bathe and a place to have fun.

Making the most out of this discovery, the two of them decided to take a dip. They could only clean themselves with a rag and some bottled water yesterday, so today, they’re going to take a bath in the river and get themselves thoroughly cleaned.

After they were stripped down to just their underwear, they quickly headed inside the water and laughed when the other one hooted with the cool temperature.

It was cold at first and Tommy yowled boisterously, eliciting his older brother to laugh at him, but he too found it cold and he thought that the best option was to yell out childishly before throwing himself under completely.

With the sun at its peak in the sky above, it took seconds for either of them to feel the warmth and soon, the chill was gone. Joel popped up from the surface, looking up to the top of the waterfall and wondering if the water was deep enough below to jump in.

Swimming up the river and checking it out for himself, he dove back under the surface and swam below the riverbed. Joel couldn’t even see the bottom, he swam and swam until he finally felt the rocks, and he estimated it to be around fifteen to twenty foot deep.

Coming back up again, he could hear Tommy yelling for him and he hurriedly yelled back, “I’m ok. Just checking how deep.”

“Deep enough to jump off?” The younger man asked, to which his elder brother replied, “yeah, it’s deep enough.”

Swimming back down to his original position, Joel and Tommy indulged in the water for five more minutes, before getting back out and sitting on the side, using the heat and the light of the sun trickling through the trees to dry them off.

They should have brought towels, but they didn’t even contemplate on finding a river out here, either way, it didn’t take them long to dry off as they chatted together in the sunlight.

“This is great, isn’t it? Maria, Ellie and Y/N are gonna love it,” Tommy chirped, while shaking his head like a shaggy dog, droplets splashing everywhere from his blonde long hair.

He reminisced about all the times he used to do this stuff when he was younger with Joel. The memories that they made together. It makes Tommy giddy to make more with his wife, with his brother and his daughter, and maybe even some kids of his own one day.

Getting ahead of himself, he thought about some of the things he could add to this place too, some more tables and chairs, maybe built a little hut of some sort for his family to get dried and dressed properly and privately, with towels.

Joel smiled after seeing his brother clearly in a happy train of thought. He watched the water roll up the side of the riverbank in which he sat upon and nodded to Tommy, “yeah. They’re going to love this place.”

After a couple moments of silence, both brothers just enjoying the comforting peace of nature, Joel stood and grabbed his clothes that were draped over a branch, “They’re going to love it when it’s done, so let's get back to it, bro.”

Taking a mental note of this location and how to find it to himself, Joel began getting himself dressed and Tommy did the same. They headed back to camp and got back to work. Cutting down trees with the chainsaw and then cutting them into smaller pieces after that.

They are going to use this wood in the future for fires or crafting new tables and chairs, mostly for now it’s just clearing the place up and making it look new. That task alone took them well into the evening.

Those trees weren’t so little and the brothers had to be safe about it too of course. When he was satisfied that they had enough wood and had cut down enough trees, Joel started clearing away all of the remaining debris from the dug well.

Thankfully the cover was still placed over the top, otherwise it would be contaminated by now after twenty years. It needed to be cleaned off with water before they opened it, so Joel and his brother had to unravel the bucket from the rope and use it to collect water from the river.

They remembered finding a couple large empty canisters from searching the caravans yesterday, so they grabbed them as well. Finding two long sticks with some rope, they attached the canisters to each of them, along with the single bucket to make it easy when carrying back.

That took some time to do, Joel’s body aches with hard labour, he hasn’t worked this much since his younger days alongside Tommy on the construction site. He liked it. It felt productive and purposeful, but boy did he feel his age.

Secretly, he felt better knowing that Tommy was feeling his age too. He may be the eldest but he ain’t the only old guy here either. Just as if the young man knew what he was thinking about, Tommy shook his head and tutted, “I know. I gotta stay in shape.”

Joel, once again, found himself laughing and bonding some more over this project with his brother.

When they got back to camp, Tommy took half of the water they retrieved to the fire to boil while Joel grabbed some of the cleaning items. With a brush held in hand, he swept away all of the dirt and grime on the outside of the well.

The brick was stained green, which shouldn’t cause much of a problem, but still, he wanted to clean everything just to be sure. It was dusty as hell, covered in green soot that caused him to sneeze a couple times too.

When the water was boiled, Tommy brought it over and used the clean water to wipe everything down. Now that that was out of the way, the both of them started sliding the concrete top off halfway. Joel was thrilled and even a little surprised to see water inside.

Using the remaining water from the canisters that they collected, they used hot water, bleach and scrubbers to clean the caravans thoroughly. Leaving the one that was locked to last, which they still need to get round to opening.

By the time the two men came to that particular caravan to clean - after cleaning the outside and inside of the other three - dark skies had already rolled in but they wanted to try and get it open before calling it a night just yet.

Tommy climbed up on the side to reach the latch for the sunroof but as soon as he peered through the foggy window, the man slung himself back with a fright, “Joel, someone is in there!”

“What?!” Joel fretted. Climbing up the side of the caravan just like Tommy did, he came up beside him and wiped away the dust with a rag. Looking inside, he grimaced and held a hand onto his stomach, “he’s dead. Whoever it is, they’re dead.”

Turning around and looking at his brother, Joel shook his head, “Don’t open this thing up, I think that’s Bobby in there.” The older Miller didn’t want to disturb this caravan, as it is in fact, a tombstone.

Jumping back down to the ground below, Tommy had an inkling to look around for something, maybe another clue to tell them that the corpse lying in the bed inside, is in fact Robert Kennedy.

“Joel, c’mere,” He called out to his brother after walking around the back and holding a flashlight up to the writing that was written along the side.

Tommy felt sick with grief, almost too much grief when Joel came round and read the words out loud, “I’m sorry to whoever finds me like this, I couldn’t wait for their return any longer. To Jenny and my kids, I love you in this life and the next.”

That corpse inside the caravan is Bobby, and his family never made it to their six week vacation, probably didn’t even make it to the airport.

Day 3

That brings us to now. On their third and final day of their restoration project.

After they found Bobby in the caravan last night, both of the men felt too unsettled to carry on with their work at that moment. They needed to take care of him, respectfully.

Taking themselves to bed, Joel only had a quick chat with his lady compared to the night before and after he said goodnight, and that he loves her, he turned over to get some shut eye. Their sleep in the caravan last night was emotionally uncomfortable.

The silence was relaxing, just an occasional bird here or there making its call but the notion of knowing what is sitting beside them just a couple feet away was eerie and depressing. Joel needed to move that caravan away from camp, but he wanted to be respectful to Bobby.

Today is their last day to get as much done as they possibly can before making their way home in the early hours of the morning tomorrow. Three nights is all they could buy themselves and it’s time to get back home to their families.

Waking up extra early today at five am, Joel left Tommy in bed for a little bit longer while he went outside to see what was left to do for the day, but instead, he took a seat at the table after making himself a cup of coffee and decided to read Bobby’s journal, to better understand the fellow.

He smiled and even laughed at some points from what the man wrote. Telling the tale of the happiest events in life with his wife and children. There were pictures too. Joel saw what Bobby looked like and he could feel the joy he held through a simple photograph.

Dark haired, dark beard, small and stocky, the man wore the biggest smile Joel has ever seen. He was standing beside his wife, presumably Jenny, and two young kids. One girl and one boy.

Jenny had red hair, fair skin tone with visible freckles, her smile just as big as her husbands, the kids just the same. All of them looked like your typical happy family and Joel could feel the love they had when looking at each of their faces.

Flicking over to the next page, he came across Bobby’s entries days before the outbreak.

~ 09.15.13 - I've just got here, at the campsite and I’m so excited. I can’t wait for the kids to arrive and see it too. I miss my Jenny a lot but she’s up in Colorado at the moment to bring her parents down here too. Let’s get this place set up for them.

Joel’s eyebrows rose with surprise when reading the first passage, poor Bobby only wanted to rent this place out for the summer for his family and decided to come out early to get it prepared while his wife retrieved her parents.

The man wouldn’t have imagined that the world would come to an end not even then days after. Curiosity pulled on Joel to read more, to learn how Bobby’s fate came to be.

~ 09.20.13 - This place is amazing, there's a waterfall nearby and the kids are coming out in six days, so that’s the first place I’m taking them. I got a postcard from Jenny today, the date is set, the 26th is when they fly out here. I paid for the deluxe package, not realizing that it comes with four caravans. Maybe I’ll let the kids have one each. Maybe.

There’s an ache in Joel’s chest while reading. He envisions Bobby through his words. The man sounded like a great father, a great husband and great son in law who only wanted the best for his family.

~ 09.21.13 - I went into town today, more and more people seem to be leaving because of this virus that’s hit the eastern seaboard of America. Hm weird. I should call Jenny and see if her flight is still good to go just in case.

~ 09.21.13 - Update, I called her, flights are all good.

Joel takes the newspaper clipping out of his pocket and looks at the date written on the bottom, it states, 09.23.13. Two days after this passage Bobby had put into his journal, which has a sizable gap until his next. He flicked over to the next page and the date that was written, surprised Joel. Bobby hadn’t written in almost two years.

~ 09.26.15 - I haven’t seen this journal since I last wrote in it, two years ago, and what a two years it has been. My family never arrived. The day of their flight, was the day the world ended, the day my world ended. I left camp as soon as I heard on the radio that people were being evacuated and I went straight for the airport, to try and get home. Everything was locked down. Jenny wasn’t picking up her phone. So I drove. I drove home, but my home wasn’t there anymore - my family wasn't there. Now two years on, I still can’t find them. I have been searching everyday and found my way back to this place. I don’t know why but I just kinda feel them here with me.

Joel had found himself hunched over, head practically in the book reading Bobby’s words. This is someone's life, yet it feels like a novel, like it simply cannot be real, but it is. Joel has seen these things in his life and he has lived through this man's loss.

His heart aches for Bobby, and for himself, but he must read on, to find out what had happened to him.

~ 12.25.15 - It’s Christmas today and I got stumbling down drunk before the sun came up. Why the fuck not? It’s not that I give a shit about what happens to me anymore. So fuck it. Let’s get drunk.

-

I’ve been staying in one of the caravans, trying to live I guess but I can’t go into the others, they were for my family. I can't handle the pain so I’m going to have a drink instead.

-

Where are they?

-

Why can’t I find them?

-

I can’t do this anymore.

-

Joel read every entry, each without dates, and slowly saw this man losing his mind. Totally overwhelmed with the loss of his family, which he understands. The next entry that Joel read from Bobby, was his last.

~ 09.26.16 - It’s been three years since I last saw my family alive, since I last kissed my wife and kids on the forehead. Three years marks the day that the world ended and took the people that I love most with it. If this journal finds anyone then this is my last message. I want to be with my family. Is it wrong for a father to want to be with his kids? A husband to be with his wife?

This camp was meant for a family and there is none here. Goodbye.

Joel stared down at the words on the page, a gut wrenching ache sitting in his stomach, transporting him back to those days that he lost Sarah. Bobby lost his whole world, and Joel feels that.

He didn’t know at what point his breathing became erratic during his daze, but a hand clamping down onto his shoulder pulled him from it.

Tommy took the book from him and pulled Joel in for a hug. Clasping his hand to the back of his head and holding him tight, the young man hugged his elder brother and assured him without words.

It was raw, emotional and needed. Very much needed, Joel appreciated the embrace - more than Tommy would ever know.

Tagging

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[fandom-monium]

Alive Together - Day 1

Summary: Welcome to the Monsterpocalypse. You’re a lone wanderer trying to survive. Until you meet Joel Dawson and Boy.

WC: 4k

Tag/Warnings: light themes of death and grief?? Cursing but minimal. Slow burn. Enemies to friends to lovers?

AN: MEET CUTE? NO. MEET UGLY.

(Entry 2#3#)

Hungry. I have nothing else to report today except that I, (Your Name), am starving. Grilled spiders and roasted centipedes are starting to get old.

I've mentioned it before and I'll do it again, but I miss home cooked meals. Even Dad's shoddy attempts at recreating Mom's recipes. The last time I think was… nevermind.

It hurts; I barely remember the last time I had dinner with Dad, much less Mom, flashes of the memories I have left blurring. Probably from the tears. I used to cry at the slightest thought of Mom and then Dad. Now my heart clenches whenever I try because I shouldn't have to try to remember my own family. Believe it or not, it’s progress.

Maybe it's my fault. I hadn't bothered to snag any mementos that reminded me of them before fleeing the bunker, like an album or something. There weren't many personal items that they'd given me, now that I think about it. Too much clutter, the Captain said.

Or maybe it's the lack of consistent stimulus to my brain. I can't read as much as I'd like to, mainly because it's too dangerous to be distracted (constant vigilance is an important virtue in this world, if you hadn’t noticed). Most books that I've stumbled across (literally, I tripped over a hill of hardcovers. Not fun. Very painful) were either tattered or worn beyond comprehension, destroyed by rain or monster attacks.

Speaking of, my stomach grumbled. I need to start hunting before it gets dark... and before I attract another monster to myself. Again.

-(Your Name) (Your Last Name)

Day 1 - First Impressions

You shut the journal as an ominous roar thunders in the distance. Heart in your throat, you’re already on your feet, shoving the book into your pack and gathering the rest of your things. Once you’re certain there’s no trace left of you on the roof, you gaze at the neighborhood below, shielding your eyes as you scan for signs of alerted monsters.

Greenery and ruins go on for miles, unperturbed.

It’s high noon, rays of sunlight seeping through the clouds and warming your exposed skin. A gust of wind brushes your face and hair, and you suppress a smile. It’s not everyday the weather is this nice, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d relish in it.

Good thing you do know better.

You trace your path to the hills. The town is a maze of torn down buildings and overgrowth, winding roads littered with abandoned houses and wrecked vehicles, and, of course, hidden monsters. There’s only a couple hours before nightfall, and you’re far from your destination.

Better start walking. You’ve wasted enough time.

You climb down the side of the dilapidated house, dropping to the ground with a thump. If there’s one thing you’ve learned since the start of the apocalypse, it’s that residential areas harbored the most monsters, aside from the cities. Too many alcoves perfect for nesting. It’s safer away from the old world.

Safer, not safe.

You keep to the shadows, avoiding the open whenever you can despite the barren streets, darting between urban remnants. Your heart eventually settles as you scan your surroundings like anything and everything will pounce on you the second you let your guard down. By the time you cross the residential area and asphalt roads bleed into dry fields (from years of neglect, you somberly note), the sun has crept out from behind the clouds and the sky is clear blue.

You find a barn after hours of trudging through shrubs and your sore feet. It looms at the top of the hill leading to a dense forest, tall enough that as you step into its shadow it blocks out the sun. Walking closer, you tense as you scrutinize the place, eyes combing over the immediate vicinity.

Nothing. Nothing moves or breathes. You don’t see or hear a peep. Not from the barn or the woods beyond. It’s completely isolated from the nearby town, a perfect fort.

Or a nest.

You huff; shit like this has happened one too many times and you’d be a fool if you haven’t learnt your lesson by now. You pull out your javelin and approach with caution, leaves and grass crunching under your boots as you take in the chipped paint and boarded up windows, steadily making your way around the decrepit building. You frown at the clear deterioration, unable to spot any visible breaches.

Reaching the front of the barn, you gaze warily at the lone entrance. Tall doors ajar, old boards are still nailed across the slim gap or hanging precariously. As if someone or something pried them off, busted through.

In or out, you can’t tell.

For a moment, you weigh your options. You doubt the place had anything to offer, pillaged long before you stumbled upon it. Hell, there’s probably a monster nesting somewhere inside, or a bunch of monster eggs.

But you need food, supplies, rest. Are you willing to risk your life on the small chance this rickety barn can provide those things?

You stare down the the opening and it stares back, deceptively innocent. But it’s mocking you, you can hear it. Just daring you to walk away. 

You shuffle on aching feet, making your clothes rub against your sweaty skin.

As if on cue, your stomach growls.

Groaning, you adjust your grip on the spear before ducking inside.

You let your eyes adjust to the dark interior. Light seeps through the rotted ceiling and cracks from the boarded windows, enough that you don’t need a flashlight to see the place is deserted. You glance around the huge room, javelin ready as you wait with bated breath, ears straining to hear over your pounding heartbeat.

Nothing. You don’t hear anything, except the trees rustling outside. Nothing shifts or darts out of sight. No signs of life, not even eggs (that you can see).

It doesn’t mean you're clear, but it’s a start.

Biting your lip, you take a careful step, and another and another, your eyes sweeping the room as you tread over straw and debris. You pause mid-step when you catch a pulley system attached to the ceiling. It’s dark, but you recognize its outline. Frowning, you trace its small, thin woven ropes as they split in different directions against the ceiling and walls, hitting and crossing the floor until they disappear under a thick layer of hay.

You raise your foot, gently kicking away the straw. You step back.

A net. A decent sized one by the width of the patch of hay.

You sigh, shoulders dropping in relief. If you hadn’t been cautious you’d never have noticed it.

You make your rounds quickly as you check for resources. At this point, it’s muscle memory for you as you move through the room with silent purpose, efficient and controlled. You dig through every storage unit, every container, pulling open cabinets and drawers, tearing through the floor with precision as you toss aside rusted tools and empty cans, a pit burning in your stomach. You snarl, throwing down another torn rag. It hits the floor with a thud.

You knew this would happen. You know the chances, but after all this time you still feel the crushing disappointment? You let out a shaky breath, nostrils flaring as you attempt to quell your frustration.

You can practically hear your mother snap at you. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you, (Your Nickname), unless you want to die, her stern voice echoes. You unclench your teeth with a sigh.

It doesn’t take long, your anger simmering down with each exhale, and when you’re sure you’re calm enough, you resume your initial task: scavenging the barn. Is it a waste of time and energy? Yes. Will you find anything useful? Unlikely. Are you going to try anyway?

You head for the stairs to the hayloft. Even if there seems to be nothing left, you need to make sure.

A few minutes later, you're sifting through another trunk when a yelp cuts across the dusty air, followed by the shrill sound of grinding metal. You startle, hissing as you bang your head against the trunk lid. Pushing down the throbbing pain, you snatch your spear and clamber down the stairs, stumbling forward as your eyes darting around the dust drifting in the air. Something barks over you and you look up.

Huh. Did not expect that.

You were prepared for a snarling, limb crushing insect. Or maybe a triple jawed mammal. Even a mega-pig. You’ve seen enough of those and managed.

But a dog? More specifically, a dog caught in the net you barely avoided. It’s tangled in the ropes suspended just above your head, gently swaying. It seems it does not care for the swinging because it starts barking again, louder and more urgent than before.

“Ah, poor doggy,” you croon, lowering your weapon. To your surprise, the dog stops and jerks to face you, its dark eyes gleaming in the shadows. You eye the seemingly calm animal. “Now, how did you get here? Were you following me?”

The dog whines, squirming in a sad attempt to escape. Your lips quirk up. Aside from the occasional bird, you haven’t seen a normal animal in what feels like forever, much less a dog. Most regular animals were consumed by monsters or by people for food.

Food. You haven’t eaten.

You study the dog; its dark brown fur, sleek and short, its body small⎼almost medium sized, with pointed ears and a long snout. And by the way it looks at you, it has some intelligence.

Your stomach grumbles, and the creature cocks its head at you, ears forward.

Shit.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” you grimace at the dog, adjusting your hold before aiming the tip at it. “It’s nothing personal, okay? I’m hungry, and you’re the first thing I’ve seen that hasn’t tried to kill me in a while.”

Which isn’t a lie. Hunting is crazy difficult these days. But you swallow as your eyes meet, its stare unwavering like you aren’t pointing a weapon at his little body. Just one motion and you could end its life painlessly (lucky bastard), but your knuckles go white and you grip falters. Why are you hesitating now?

The dog, as if sensing your battle, barks again, this time more composed than panicked, as if trying to communicate with you. You’re grateful you can’t speak Dog. It’s probably saying something like ‘No, you’re better than this’ or ‘Please don’t do this’ or⎼

“Put him down!”

Or that.

Dear Aimee,

Guess what?

I got a dog! And he’s the coolest, his name is Boy.

He saved my life from a giant frog in a pool who tried to eat me with his tongue, and then we hung out in his bus! Man, do we make a great team. We found out that we have a ton in common too. I feel like we can talk about anything.  

You gotta see us out here; we’re like this iconic duo. I don’t know, feels like when we’re together, we’re unstoppable.

“Right, Boy? Boy?” Joel glances at his side, doing a double take. The dog’s gone. His shoulders slump, “Of course, the first friend I’ve made outside and he leaves me. Sounds about right.”

He didn’t think he could gain and lose a friend within the span of two days. This has to be some kind of record.

He jerks when he hears Boy’s faint barking, guiding him as he drags himself back to the old barn they just passed. For good reasons. The decaying barn looks like it’s in need of a new contractor and a paint job… or three. And an exterminator.

God, the surface is terrifying.

Gulping down his dread, Joel crouches to peer through the gaping hole in the wall. This must be where Boy came through. “Whatcha got there?”

The barking ceases, and so does Joel’s heart.

You stand in the dark like an apparition, back turned to him so he can’t make out your features. Your attention is fixed on the shadowed lump hanging over you, and while it’s dark and he doesn’t have a good vantage point, Joel’s mouth goes dry as he seeks out Boy.

Boy woofs again, and Joel’s heart drops. You step closer to the lump.

For a split second, he sees a flash of his mother’s face, her tears streaming down her cheeks.

He doesn’t think; no thoughts, head empty. Blood roars in his ears. His hands tremble. But he doesn’t hesitate, ripping the makeshift crossbow from his back as he scrambles under the opening.

“Put him down!”

He’s not entirely sure what he expects. He’s read enough comic books to understand the situation; the hero drops in to save damsel in distress then proceeds to demolish the bad guys. Technically, he has the upper-hand here. Right?

But realization slams into him. It knocks the air out of him, and he forgets to breathe.

He shouldn’t have barged in like an idiot. He isn’t a hero. He’s nothing like the superheroes in comics and movies and graphic novels. He doesn’t have super strength or speed or highly advanced tech and he sure as hell is not a genius. 

What he does have: a freezing problem.

He’s already lost feeling in his hands, and he almost drops the weapon as you look over your shoulder at him.

On the other hand, you have a pretty clear idea before you face your captor (seeing him now, can you even consider him that?). With the apocalypse, governments crumbled with ease along with laws and morals, so it’d make sense for people to disregard them. You’ve met quite a few… characters, and you’ve chalked it up to these main categories; garbage thieves, sleazy scavengers, and shitty thugs.

In short, humans are selfish creatures. Prepare for the worst.

You’ve thrown down, fought dirty, bartered with them all and still managed to come out on top, the scars across your body a constant reminder. Nothing surprises you at this point.

A fumbling boy though? You mask your amusement, raising an eyebrow as you take him in. The guy, tall and disheveled, blocks the only exit out of this godforsaken place, his red jacket rumpled and dusty like he’s fallen one too many times. However, what nearly sends you is, as he steps further into the light, you bite your lip, his eyes round and small lips pressed together as the crossbow quakes in his hands.

Who let this puppy out of their sight?

“Listen, buddy,” You finally speak, making Joel flinch. Your eyes narrow as his fingers jerk on the trigger. That’s not good. “If you’re gonna point that thing at me, you better know how to use it.”

He sucks in air, clearing his throat as his eyes dart between Boy and you. He cringes when his voice comes out octaves higher than he expected, “Let Boy go.”

“’Boy’?” You glance up, your weapon still raised at the squirming little fellow. “Oh, you mean Dinner?”

“You were gonna eat him?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Depends how this goes.”

“Okay,” Joel swallows, a futile attempt to keep his tone even as nausea sprouts in him. You plan to eat Boy? How can someone eat something so cute? “Let him go, and we’ll leave you alone. How ‘bout that?”

Beads of sweat drip down his temple as his breaths come out shuddered. He’s not used to this; he’s gone from being the chef of his colony to making demands, negotiating with a possible psycho.  He never trained for this! Well, he’d never been trained, period.

What if he says the wrong thing and sets you off, hurting Boy in the process? He might faint⎼no⎼he will faint. He doesn’t think his heart can handle losing more people… or animals. How is he supposed to save Boy? His fingers twitch against the trigger.

You don’t miss it.

“I don't know about that,” You reply, studying him. His hands tremble as they clutch the weapon. He may not be a scavenger or a thief, but that just makes him all the more unpredictable. Goons, you’d expect them to shoot first, ask questions later, but the fact this guy is making an effort to talk? You want to know his angle, his intentions.

Whether it’s good or bad.

“I’m hungry. It’s going to be dark soon, and Boy here,” You jerk your head at the canine, “was unlucky enough to fall into this ol’ trap.”

You watch, withholding a sneer as emotions and thoughts flit across Joel’s face like an open book. It seems a lightbulb goes off because he looks back at you, eyes wide and hopeful. “You want food? I have some in my backpack. If I give it to you, you let him go?”

He tries not to squirm, the little courage he has waning as your eyes bore into him.

“…Put the crossbow and the bag down. Slowly.”

“You too.” You tilt your head curiously as Joel stutters, “Your spear⎼I mean, if you could stop pointing it at my dog. Please.”

Your brows shoot up. Since the moment he entered⎼wait⎼floundered in here, he could not have made it more obvious that he has no idea what he’s doing. If it wasn’t the way he carried that exposed him, it was definitely his facial expressions, and if not his face, you can hear it trickle through the cracks in his voice. Yet despite how unfair the situation is for him, he’s trying to cover his terror. Failing miserably but trying. All for this cute, little doggy.

And he said please. You ignore the way it warmed you, his tone so…. genuine.

Manners, sincere or not, in the face of danger? You have to respect that.

“It’s a javelin, actually, but I agree to your terms.” Your grip slackens. He might be a wimp, but you have to give it to him. He’s got balls.

A flicker of relief crosses his face, and you both comply with your instructions. In spite of his obvious fear, you roll your eyes as he unzips his bag unnecessarily slower than you meant him to, throwing you a look.

On second thought, he’s either really brave or really stupid. It’s fifty-fifty at this point.

Joel pulls out an aluminum can. It glints in the light as he holds it up and tosses it to you. You catch it easily, inspecting it in your hands.

“Now will you let my dog go⎼Boy!” His scream tears through the barn.

You’re already composed. Uncoiling like a snake, you seize your spear and swing, all in one motion. He lunges for you, but you’re too far. He hits the ground.

Groaning in pain, he berates himself. He should have known; they had no reason to trust each other, so of course this stranger, this psycho, would betray him. He tries to brush it off, the false sense of security dissipating, the relief replaced with crushing betrayal and horror. 

This is what the surface is like? His chest clenches. He can’t breath, but this isn’t like when he freezes up on a monster. At least, not those monsters. This is worse. So much worse.

The net rips, then a pained grunt. Joel shields his eyes, burying his face in his hands as tears trail down his dirt-smudged cheeks. His heart thunders in his ears as he prepares for the inescapable sound of Boy’s pained yelps, the squelch of metal piercing flesh. He chokes down a sob.

He only knew Boy for less than two days, but within that timespan he bared his soul to the animal. He probably knew him better than his own colony. In the short time they had together, he became his best friend⎼

Okay, ew. What is licking him?

“Boy?” Joel groans, flinching away as the dog bombards him with wet kisses. “Wait, you’re not dead?”

You step into the light, javelin in hand as you snort, “Of course not. Did you think I was gonna kill him?”

Yes. Joel sits up and cradles Boy to his chest, gawking at you.

You glare at him, almost offended. “I’m not a monster.”

No. No you are not.

Decked in a faded blue jacket, you stand relaxed, spear perched over your shoulder (or a jav⎼java-something). Your eyes glint in the sunlight like steel, hard and piercing, with dark circles under them. You watch him with a slight frown. And like him, there’s smudges of dirt on your face and clothes, but you manage to make it look cool and purposeful.

You don’t look like a monster, but you kind of acted like one. Joel is conflicted.

He opens his mouth to respond, but he's not sure what to say in this situation, overwhelmed by a cocktail of emotions that he’s still coming down from. Before he conjures an appropriate response (is there even one?), you're shouldering your backpack and slipping through the gap. Joel rushes to his feet. “Hey, wait!”

You continue up the hill, not bothering to turn to him as you purse your lips. “Oh. You’re still here.”

“Yeah, I’m ‘still here’! You held my dog hostage; kind of hard to get over,” he grumbles, panting as he trudges after you with Boy at his heels. You’re faster than you look. “So⎼uh⎼where you heading?”

“Away.”

He nods almost sage-like, wringing his hands together. “Cool, cool. So mysterious,” He pauses, inhaling deeply. His voice, now deeper and a bit more relaxed, comes in a rush as he asks, “Is there any chance we could go with you?”

You freeze, and Joel almost crashes into your back. You whirl around and suddenly you’re faced to face, but you’re too astonished by his question to care that he’s in your personal bubble.

His breathes come in heaves. His eyes are big and round, brown and bright with… hope?

It occurs to you that this guy, who hasn’t even given you his name, is a loser. A hopeful, naive loser.

And it’s for that reason you come to a decision⎼you’ll entertain him. 

“Where are you going?”

“West,” Joel’s shoulders hunch, his voice self-assured as he adds, “to the coast.”

Yeah... fuck that. 

You turn to walk away. “No.”

“Wait!”

You glower at him, stopping him in his tracks. “Dude, we got what we wanted. I got food, you got your dog. End of transaction.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, like he’s debating how far he can test you. He seems to think better of it as his shoulders sag and he caves, “Fine, I’ll head west without you. I can do it.” The last part he says more to himself before turning on his heel, starting in the direction opposite of you.

You nod. This is good, for the both of you. And safer, you tell yourself as you turn to begin your trek again. You’re two strangers in the apocalypse; you don’t know who he is, where he’s been, and, from your experience, it’s best to travel alone. It’s inconspicuous, efficient and⎼

Where the hell is he going?

You halt, squinting as you watch him hike away from the west coast. “Hey!”

He looks at you over his shoulder, his face surprised but expectant. Hopeful. He reminds you of a puppy being called over by their owner.

He thinks you’re caving into him.

Well, jokes on you, loser. You raise an eyebrow, “You know that’s not West, right?”

“Oh,” Joel’s eyes widen, clearing his throat. Boy woofs and he shoots him a withered look, altering his trajectory. “I knew that.”

“That’s not West either.”

He switches directions again.

You shake your head. “No.“

And again.

“Nope.”

Joel’s face reddens, unable to meet your eyes as he stops trying so he doesn’t further humiliate himself.

You make your way over to him, rolling your eyes. He seems to make you do that a lot. “Okay, how much food you got on you?”

“Enough to last me a week? Why⎼”

That’s all you needed to hear.

“Then it’s settled,” You decide, clapping him on the shoulder. He winces. “You share your rations with me, and I’ll help you get to the West coast.”

He blinks, clearly taken aback as you begin your trek once again, gesturing him to follow you. You feel his eyes on your back. “Really?”

“Really. You are a food source. Also I’m pretty sure you’d die before getting halfway.” You add, unabashed.

He frowns, unsure whether to be grateful or not. He decides on the latter. “Oh…thanks anyway?”

“You're really not from around here, are you?” You pause, looking back at him.

He scratches the back of his neck. “No. Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully. So free advice,” You, with a hand on your hip and tone clipped, gesture up and down at his⎼well⎼everything. “Try not to let anyone know you’re a newb. Might keep you alive.” With that, you start heading West, not bothering to see if he’s comprehended the note you bestowed on him.

Joel glances down at himself before trailing after you. “Good to know.”

AN: I want to make it clear: I would never eat a dog, you would never eat a dog, no one would ever eat. A. Dog. That was a joke for this part 1. I even wrote emphasis on your character’s hesitation. It’s just that this is the apocalypse, so it’s safe to assume that survivors are driven into corners, desperate and have to make some hard choices.

The end dialogue is reference to @teenwolffanclub-me ​TW rewrite bc i love it and them so if you like Dylan O’ Brien and Stiles pls read their shit. <333

This part is a slow starter, but I don’t want to rush this, your intro and your development. But, now that you’ve finally met, hopefully the rest won’t seem any slower than the beginning.

I’ve never wrote for a lone survivor kind of character before. I hope you enjoyed the intro nonetheless!

I think I’ll forgo the 7 parts idea, but that’s a goal.

Part 2 in progress.

Also, how to get a beta reader??

[overgrowth-wc]

Hello! So after days of editing, the rest of Overgrowth is all queued up and ready to go. It is also available in it’s entirety here on ao3, if you just want to read it all now. Posting it all to tumblr is just to cover my bases and get ready for the release of Pyrophyte, the prologue of which will be posted tomorrow once the queue runs out. I’m looking forward to sharing the concluding part of the story with y’all!

[cyhyr]

Whumptober Day 6

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Iruka & Kakashi (pre-relationship)

WC: ~600

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: starvation, vertigo, hungry child character, vertigo, Missing Nin Kakashi & Iruka

A/N: This is a very short scene out of a story idea @atereal thought up and was nice enough to let me play with. There's not much context, but in this story a teenaged Kakashi and Iruka run away with four-year-old Naruto for Reasons.

Tagging for Whumptober: @sweetysamaa, @atereal, @kelkage

~

Kakashi places his hand over his belly, willing it to settle and be quiet so he won’t be heard. He readies his kunai, exhales softly, throws—

And misses. The flock of birds all fly away and Kakashi stumbles out of the overgrowth and flings shuriken and two more kunai into the air, but still misses. His weaponry clatters to the ground, followed by Kakashi’s knees.

His stomach gurgles and cramps. He can’t go back empty-handed. He just—this is the second day in a row that he’s been unable to bring back food for Naruto and Iruka, and their ration bars ran out three days ago. They’re counting on him to bring something back.

Once more, he picks himself up, steadies his hand against a tree trunk to keep the vertigo at bay, and goes to collect his fallen weaponry. Once more, he takes a large, deep inhale. Once more, into the woods.

~

Kakashi staggers into their little camp hours later, ducking into the lean-to he helped build almost a week ago. He smiles softly at Iruka, holding Naruto tight to his chest; both of them are curled up together, Kakashi’s flak vest underneath them to keep the dirt away.

Iruka weekly opens his eyes and, upon seeing Kakashi’s expression, smiles back. He moves as though he’s going to disentangle himself from Naruto, but Kakashi shakes his head and murmurs, “Please, don’t. Save your strength.”

Iruka’s face falls. “Nothing?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll.” Kakashi goes down to his knees. “There’s a village nearby, I think. I’ll go tomorrow and see if I can find some work.”

“I should go too,” Iruka offers, sitting up anyway.

“No, I need you to stay with Naruto. Please.”

Iruka softens again. “Kakashi, we need to eat. We all need to eat. And we’re in this together.”

“I’ll bring something back for you both tomorrow, I promise.” He sighs. “Were you able to get water today?”

Iruka nods. “As long as we stay hydrated, we’ll survive. But Kakashi, I could—”

“No, Iruka. I—”

Naruto’s stomach rumbles, and the four-year-old whimpers in his sleep, rolling over and curling around his belly. At the same moment, Iruka’s eyes roll back and his spine goes slack for just a second, just long enough for Kakashi to panic and rush to catch him. Iruka ends up lax in his arms, moaning softly and laying his hands over his own empty stomach.

“Gods, I shouldn’t have brought you with me,” Kakashi murmurs, burying his face into Iruka’s hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please gods forgive me—”

“Shut up,” Iruka breathes. “I would have followed you if you’d tried to leave me behind.” He reaches a shaky hand up and brushes his fingertips across Kakashi’s mask-covered cheek. “I will never regret leaving with you and Naruto. Now, lay down with us and get some sleep. We’ll see about going to that village in the morning.”

Kakashi arranges Iruka back on the edge of the vest, watching as Naruto immediately shuffles in his sleep to be next to Iruka again. Iruka puts his arms around him, and then looks up at Kakashi expectantly. Sighing, he takes off his weaponry and sets it nearby, and then lays down behind Naruto. He reaches his arm over both of them, Naruto and Iruka, and quickly asks, “Is this okay?” before resting his arm on Iruka’s waist.

Iruka nods and closes his eyes. He curls ever closer, trying to find warmth through the cool night. Kakashi lets his arm relax over this little family they’ve made, and watches them both sleep until exhaustion finally claims him, too.

[bookenders]

Inspired by this gorgeous art from @heikala​ on Twitter. It stopped my scrolling in its tracks and I wrote this immediately. 

I love artists.

WC: 671

CW: death

She braided her hair and waited.

She was good at waiting. It was all she had been able to do for the longest time. Their kingdom fell long ago, ages, really, leaving her sleeping and waking among creeping overgrowth, watching her brothers’ ghosts fade into sunlight, remaining, despite it all, hopeful for something new.

She had named the plants. Some of them, anyway. They must have had names before, or new ones now, that she didn’t know, but she didn’t mind. No one knew anything until they felt the desire to learn. So she named the white blooms chrysanthemums, even though they were not chrysanthemums. Remembering what they had looked like was difficult; it had been so long since she had seen one in person. Ages, really. But now they were chrysanthemums, and they were her favorites.

She could touch them, sometimes. Feel the cheek-soft petals, the strong stems, the thin, reedy leaves. A memory from her childhood, hazy and warm, reminded her how to weave them into halos. Things her mother might have worn, or made for her brothers. Gentle hands in her hair and slow breaths, those were what she remembered. And so her breaths grew warm and her hands never creased a single petal.

The world was made of memories. Old stone walls were more than places for decaying tapestries. They had held the servants’ hands as they trekked down halls over-laden with bowls and plates and sheets and clothes. The doors were rotted; there was no need to separate these open rooms anymore. Butterflies and moths flew wherever they pleased, unimpeded by walls or wind or winding stairs. She never knew a place returned to nature could be so heartbreakingly beautiful.

It was quiet most days. There was no one left to make a sound. Every once in a while, a weathered stone would settle and cascade pebbles into the growing grasses, or a small, round puddle, rippling the silence until it smoothed once again. Quiet wasn’t so bad, most of the time, but days upon days of it were lonely. So she laid in the grass, moss pillowed under her head, and slept.

A clash of metal woke her one day. It was early morning, just before the sun would peek in through the windows. She knew the sound. A fight, and a bad one at that. Following the sounds of battle, she wove through hallways long abandoned until she found herself in one of the east wing’s wide passage rooms. She waited outside the door for the noises to stop.

A thick cord twanged, a person cried out, and all fell silent once more. She jumped back when two soldiers flung the passage door open and jogged down the hallway, alert and wary, scarred and bruised and battered, barely alive. Where they went was none of her concern. They would leave, and she would be alone again.

But from the room, a wet cough echoed, bounced between the stones and reached her ears. She peeked around the doorway.

A woman, strong and beautiful in knight’s armor, lay on the ground. One hand gripped an arrow in her chest. The woman coughed again, then sighed.

Slowly, she approached, careful to tread on the mossy stones. Crouching beside the woman, she placed a hand over hers where it gripped the arrow. The woman’s eyes opened.

She smiled.

Then, as though falling asleep, her eyes fluttered closed and her face softened into peace.

She bowed her head and gathered chrysanthemums.

One by one, she wove the stems together like her mother showed her a long, long time ago. Ages, really. The blooms were new. They always came with the autumn season. Crisp, cool air flowed in through the shattered windows, chasing the rays of the morning sun as she placed the first halo on the woman’s head, then made one for herself.

She gathered her hair in her lap, threaded the long, smooth strands between her fingers, and waited.

She had always been good at waiting.

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[pumpkin-bread]

Ok here are the updated prices! All are heavily discounted, and most of these accents are retired!

I really, really need g to scatter the first dragon I ever bought in an auction (over 3 years ago) and... kind of... fucked up today.

Here’s the direct links to the AH listings!

Spend 2kG or more on these accents and I will draw you a half-body of one of your dragons/characters as a bonus! It will be fully inked!

Enchanted Overgrowth for WC F Frozen Glass Glow for WC M Light is Believe for PC F Regal Jest - Cobalt for SD F Valkyrie Silver Sword for Imp F Queen of Roses for Imp F Pearly Red Peonies for PC F Roving Rascal for WC F Spiritchaser for SD M Tropical Lights for Imp M Moonglow Runes for Tundra F Armor of the Dark Prince for WC F Twilit for SD F

There’s probably more I missed but god I’m tired of linking. HAVE A LOOK! Help me lmfao

[corvvii]

pieces (1/2)

wc: 1437 (of ?)

in which leon “chases leads” that maybe he’d rather not. 

“you're so tired trying to rewind the mess you've made of your own mind”

“So, what’s it this time?”

“Work.”

“—Ah. Always work with you, i’n’it.”

Leonnaux pressed himself a little further into the shadows of the covered wagon, pulling a bit of loose fabric from his scarf up over his nose and mouth. The crates around him rattled around a bit thanks to the rough roads. In fact, he figured, they could barely be called roads at all: more like routes that were only kept free of low patches of brush and overgrowth thanks to the high traffic. Wagons, caravans, adventurers and other travelers both on foot and on chocobo-back.

“There’s always work to be done.”

“Not usually up in the Black Shroud, though.”

He looked up, then. The driver of the wagon—a Dunesfolk with white hair and a somewhat hunched back in his comfortable age—didn’t even look over his shoulder at the Duskwight, both hands still firmly wrapped around the reigns of both the chobobos that drew his wagon of wares ever-closer to their destination at Gridanian markets. And Leonnaux let out a sigh.

“Nosy as ever, aren’t you, Ririsifo.”

“You say that as if keeping me in the loop hasn’t saved your sorry arse constantly.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’m just following up on some leads, making sure that they’re still good. I’m not going to get in too deep this time. I promise.”

“You swivin’ better. You still owe Ji and I a round.”

“I know, I know. You can stop nagging me about it any day now.”

“I’ll stop nagging you about it when we get it. Or are you afraid you’ll lose?” Ririsifo laughed a bit, though he was cut off when the wagon ran over a bump in the road. “—Oof! Gah, swivin’ ruts. Anything break back there?” He finally glanced over his shoulder then.

“Not that I can see.”

“Good. Now, then. I’m only staying in Gridania for three nights and then I’ve got to get back home. If you’re keen on hitching a ride back with me, then you’re gonna have to get your work done before then, hear?”

“I doubt I’ll even need that.”

Leonnaux didn’t like to make a habit of lying to the man who was the reason why he didn’t starve within a week of arriving in Ul’dah, but he wasn’t quite comfortable divulging the actual reasons for his trip to Gridania.

It’d been years since he walked the paths that wove through the city, but he still remembered all the little twists and turns—the little shortcuts and the little corners he’d used and frequented years ago. If he tried, he could probably find his way back home—

But he shook his head at the thought—

And let out a sigh.

He didn’t mind the forest so much, but the city set him on edge. It was familiar, yes, and in that he found comfort. But that familiarity was a double-edged sword that dredged up bad memories of worse times: of when his mother would send him out to market because he was the only member of the household that wouldn’t face harassment based on their heritage, of returning home one winter evening to find his brother using his notes as kindling.

‘He…’

Leonnaux swallowed the knot that formed in his throat, balled his hands into fists, and kept walking. Ardun had done him the favor of using his connections to the Adders to find his brother after all these years; it was the least that he could do to follow up. He wouldn’t let his friend’s efforts go wasted, even if Leonnaux still wasn’t sure that he’d like whatever he found when he finally did see his brother again. Actually—he wasn’t even sure what he’d see, specifically. He knew that these days, his brother was part of the Gods’ Quiver—though which part, Leonnaux wasn’t sure. Figuring out what unit he was part of was one obstacle of many, though; just figuring that out wouldn’t tell Leonnaux where he was stationed or if he was out in the field at all. Questions without answers rattled around in Leonnaux’s head, drove him mad—if there was anything he hated, it was not knowing.

But there was only one way to find out.

He could feel his heart pounding as he made his way to the Quiver’s Hold. He could feel his hands shake as he buried them into the mass of fabric draped around his neck and shoulders as a scarf, and he made a point of keeping his head down. Thankfully, none of the archers stationed outside the building proper paid him much mind: one hyur watched him go inside for a moment, but the attention was short-lived.

“Afternoon, ser. Recruit?” There was a perky young Keeper at the reception desk this morning with blue-ish skin and bright blue eyes. Her ears lifted and her eyes lit up as he approached; Leonnaux figured that his appearance was probably one of the more exciting things to happen to her today, since it seemed like otherwise she would have been tasked with oiling bowstrings and examining a new shipment of arrows for the members of the guild and the Gods’ Quiver.

But he shook his head. “Um… No, I’m actually not very good with a bow.” She opened her mouth to respond to him, but he cut her off by continuing: “Or learning. It’s fine, really; I’m—a mage. I was actually hoping I might find someone here.”

“Oh. Well, I can me’bbe help with that. Er, may-be. Sorry, I’m working onnat. On-that. You got a name?”

“Well—my name’s Leonnaux, and uh—I was wondering—if you would point me in the direction of a… Luxont Declurais.”

“Oh, Declurais? You’re in luck; he just got to the Hold a bit ago! He should be around here somewhere; you want me to fetch him for you?”

Leonnaux tilted his head to the side and brought one hand up to cover an ear when her voice went up about an octave in her eagerness to be helpful, transforming her already high-pitched mewling into squeaks. “Um… If he’s not busy. I can wait—elsewhere—if he’s occupied, or—I can always come back another—time.”

But she’d already darted off by the time he’d finished speaking.

He couldn’t have been waiting more than five minutes, sitting awkwardly on a bench off to the side. But that was still enough time for the bile to churn in his belly and threaten to rise in his throat. Oh, did he ever feel ill. Once or twice, he actually got up, considered stepping outside to vomit in the bushes and, well, just take whatever repercussions followed from that since that tended to be frowned upon. But he managed to keep it down, instead occupying his thoughts with his hands. He twisted and manipulated his scarf in more ways than he’d been aware he knew how: wrapping and unwrapping and rewrapping and untying and retying it around his neck. It was just laying over his shoulders when he heard his name, though—in an all-too-familiar voice.

“Leonnaux? By—by the Matron’s graces, it’s you, isn’t it?”

He lifted his head to meet Luxont’s eyes.

Luxont had always been the taller of the two, and the more obviously-Duskwight of the two as well. Where Leonnaux had a bit more color in his features and could generally pass himself off as a Wildwood if he had to, Luxont definitely couldn’t: he, like their mother, was gray (albiet with ruddy-brown undertones). He still wore his black hair long, though where before he would have worn it loose, it was now pulled back in a low ponytail with a white ribbon. A longbow was slung across his chest and a quiver of arrows was slung over his shoulder. At a glance, there was very little resemblance between them, but as Leonnaux rose and took a few slow, tentative steps toward him, some similarities became apparent: they were both lithe (although Luxont was more athletic), they both set their jaw in the same way when they were nervous, and they both averted their eyes in the exact same way for the exact same reasons.

“Yeah. It is.” Leonnaux paused for a long moment, took a breath before continuing: “I’m glad—you’re doing alright. Did you—want to catch up?”

In response, Luxont lifted his hands to place them on Leonnaux’s shoulders. The younger of the two couldn’t help but wince at the gesture, neither expecting nor quite sure what to make of the affection. “I’ll make dinner.”

[chezzkaa]

Spectral Scrawls

Chapter One: Grave Hopping

A/N: Hey all. Have a random mini fic that I absolutely adore, brimming with ghostly charm and sensitive perceptions. Not sure if it’s worth exploring and posting, so let me know! I certainly have a plan for it in the future, if it’s something you guys would like to join me for.  [Master List]

Pairing: Jeremy Dooley x Reader

Summary: Haunted by the pain of your past, you struggle through life with the help of your boyfriend, Jeremy. Equally out of his depth with his abilities, the two of you support each other as best you can, ultimately offering the prospect of moving in together. But having interacted with a lost and broken spirit on one of your late night adventures to explore the world of the macabre, you’re left to deal with a haunting of a different kind.

WC: 3407

The iron bars grate across my front as I shimmy through the gate, bag clasped in my hand and mustard yellow sweater catching against the rust. The soft earth gives beneath my feet, sneakers sinking into the mud cling to life of last night’s rainfall; the graveyard still, as though death himself slumbered atop the banks beneath the blanket of stars. A deep sigh is all it takes to get moving, weaving in and out of the crumbling tomb stones, the names embossing my back and floral notes clinging to my jeans. It doesn’t take long to relax in the calming peace, the mossy smell of the surrounding forest filling my lungs and clogging my nose with pleasantries. It accompanies me when settling on the bench nestled between the stones worn with mistreatment and forget; a wing of the yard long since gifted to the overgrowth.

From the bag clatter a collection of candles in frosted glass and tea lights by the dozens, each fluttering to life with the fizz of a match, my attention caught in the flickering flame before it curls into a smouldering remanent. Scattering them around the seat coated in moss, my legs pull up and I plant my feet against the damp, protesting wood; body angling to rest the journal jammed with loose pages and spilling sticky notes against my knees. Pages crammed with creativity, notes scrawled between the sketches I’d worked so hard on but hated for the imperfections I just couldn’t seem to fix. There was always something, a curving angle I couldn’t fashion, the twist of a smile far too forced and smudged with irritation.

Under the cool shine of the moon I put pen to paper, the warm flames chatting with the gentle breeze and rustle of leaves. Though the graveyard hadn't been my first stop on the night’s journey, adventuring further into the silence to explore a world I’d held in curious light, it would most certainly be my last. The morning hours trickled closer with the inevitable colours streaking the sky; calling for me to wander back to the achingly empty home and battle the loneliness seeping from the walls. To smell the bitter dust and lingering anguish trapped in the cracks; creaking to life with each groan beneath my feet.

I’d been there for an hour, legs growing stiff and butt numb atop the cold dampness taking over my jeans, encased in the darkness of death and writing about the light. Unafraid of the sharp calls of owls or the whistle between the tomb stones, calmed by the gentle breath of warm air tickling through my hair and bringing with it an unusual sense of comfort. The voice creeps faint at first, but strengthening with curiosity as it sounds from behind. “What're you writing about?” I jump; startled and glancing around with confusion that knits my brows at the sight of nothing. Only the grass waves back, whispering to the weeds winding through the rocks. “Whatever I can think of,” I say to the stars, feeling exhaustion finally returning to drag me back to delirium in the vain hope I’d sleep.

I reposition on the bench, legs creaking as I lower them, shoulders popping as I prop against the back to peer around the tomb stones. No sounds other that the wildlife rustling, nothing else breathing but me. Preferring the subtle silence to the screams of anxiety, the calm of a place left without judgement easing the scolding words I carried, still stinging in my shoulders. A soft sigh escapes, face settling into a smile with the swaying of trees and the warm flickers of candle light. “Are... are you alright on your own?” This time his face presses against my peripheral; stationed as though he’d been there all along.

Beneath the moonlight his hair is dusted silk, sweeping with a graceful curve away from the strong lines of his calming face. His blue eyes shimmer, constantly moving in the light with an array of deep, agonising tones to brighter, more joyous sparks, but still somehow soft and anxious. It’s difficult to focus on his body, attention trapped by the shape of his shoulders and the strength of his jaw. The hollow of his throat dipping gentle to flow into strong collar bones exposed beneath an oversized sweater, tattered and littered with holes.

He waits for my response with the patience of a saint, the atmosphere shifting anxiously with a tilt of his head and tentative smile. “Yeah,” I breathe, shuffling to get a clearer look at the man who seemed only a fraction older, mature expression brimming with a boyish charm. I wondered if he felt the aches of age far too early, whether he saw the world and let out a rattling, exhausted sigh – or whether it was just me. “It's not as scary as you'd expect. No way near as terrifying as adulthood.”

“Normal people are generally afraid of graveyards, and things that go bump in the night.” His lips don’t move, but his chuckle is warm across my skin, like a reassuring embrace. The air ripples around his body as I try to concentrate, blinking rapidly as his image fades and distorts beneath my sleep drunk stupor. Pressing a palm to them, I rub, vision readjusting to see he's shifted to the other side of the bench, though I’d swear he hadn’t moved. “Things that go bump in the night should be afraid of me.” I find myself joking, looking down to the notes and closing the book in your lap, his deep warm chuckles hugging into my back as I grow surprisingly grateful for his unexpected company.

“Maybe it's just me that doesn't like graveyards,” he muses softly, the candles flickering with the movement of my feet, hands pushing up the mustard sleeves slipping over my fingers. “Can I sit with you?” His question is careful, as though he feared the prospect of burdening another with his companionship. I nod, hearing his feet whisper and the bench creak beneath his weight, a relieved sigh disappearing into the night. “Of course, I’d appreciate the company, honestly. Hang around as long as you’d like,” I greet, looking up but finding nothing but a feeling of warm, protecting comfort; the man nowhere to be found.

“Oh... alright then,” I murmur, frowning up to the moon, eyebrows knitting together as isolation burrows between my shoulders. A deep sigh rattles through my lungs, lips vibrating and fingers drumming before I open the journal again, its pages falling heavily from all that was plastered inside. With the sweet smell of moss and his shining eyes hovering just out of reach, I begin to sketch. Working with the strong set of his jaw; the slight bend of his nose, and the angles of his neck diving into collar bones with an array of pencils. Lead smooth against the grain as I shape the tilt of his chin, the curve of his shoulders and folds of a sweater that was far too large. Everything screamed power, unshaken by the cold creeping across the back of my neck, but in his eyes I found nothing but contradictions. A softness that constantly swelled like gentle waves touching the shore; and a quite rush of insecurity that’s deafening if just spared the time.

I’m too lost in his vulnerability, masked behind a boyish smile; recognising it from each time my eyes passed over a mirror. My reflection a shattering similarity to the pain he’d never intended me to see. Looking at the sketch propped against my knees, I can help but stare at the face looking back, long lashes burying the tears sprinkling the pages. I soak them with the mustard sleeve gripped in a fist, unsure where the emotion was coming from, rippling through me in resonating waves.

I don’t hear grounds keeper until the sound of his boots kicking at the dirt press against my mind, eyes flicking up to the spot I know he’d round. Collecting my supplies, I abandon the candles, smiling down at the journal before the footsteps eventually throb in my ears. “Come on,” I murmur to the book, gripping it tightly and taking off towards the back of the yard, morning sun streaking the looming clouds as I weave carefully between the stones. Stretching around the perimeter stands a wobbly stone wall, crumbling at the touch of my fingers as I begin to climb, feet slipping but balance unquestionable. With a little exertion I make it to the top, jeans catching on the stone as I watch the light chase away the shadows, grounds keeper finally rounding the corner to spot me. His gruff scolds follow as I drop onto the street, a small breath pressing from my lungs from the impact shaking in the soles of my feet.

The warmth radiating from the journal clasped in my hand provides comfort, inhaling the cool morning air as I slip it into your bag; eyes stinging in the sun creeping through the building slots. Replacing the bound pages of the journal with my phone, a quick text sends me in the direction of home; my sneakers brushing the laneways and dipping in receding puddles dotting the path. The dreary village never appealed. Nothing changed, the people remaining as stagnant as the buildings, drooping being the weight of age and soggy weather. I pass by the small shops that had once seen me squeaking with glee, the smell of the bakery doing nothing but churning my stomach, the absence of a hand in mine stinging. I try not to dwell, quickly escaping the memories haunting the familiar path to my house, the white walls cut with strong brown beams welcoming me back with lacklustre enthusiasm.

My fingers trace the short wall lined with weeds, the old gate rusted and reluctantly responsive, shrieking open to scuff the stone pathway. Up the steps I take in threes, faded red door rattling open with a turn of keys before I abandon them on the hallway counter. Delicate cream walls turn away, ash wood floor boards uneven and scuffed as they rush away, stumbling up the stairs lined with muted ancient ivory carpeting. I spare little thought to the pictures clinging to the walls, faces behind the frames pleading for recognition, accusations pelting my back until I reach the kitchen through the doorway on the right.

Even here the empty dining table wails, the pretty Alice blue run laced with gold and overflowing with frothy flowers – long since expired – do little to hide the mourning. The kitchen counters are cold to the touch, stinging as I toss my bag down on the grey marble surface, fridge humming in disapproval. I don’t linger, snatching the stepping stool from between the cabinets and fridge to clack them open, clambering up to reach into the higher cupboards. An irritated sigh sees me straining, fingers finally connecting with the china travel mug, clutching it close to my chest as I step down and return the step; my phone erupting. I don’t look at it, already knowing where to go. Instead I grab your wallet, and collect mu keys, snatching a grey beanie before the front door slams to keep the ghosts of regret at bay.

I see him immediately, hair a deep sorrowful blue as he hunches in a booth, weighed down by anxiety and the stifling warmth saturating my lungs. I order my drink from the bubbly and bright woman at the register, knowing not to ask if their banana bread was in stock, already aware that the answer would be no as I slide her the travel mug. Rather, I purchase two gigantic cupcakes loaded with sickening icing before approaching the man, bottom lip drawn between my teeth. While passing I rest a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, confusion and bitterness swirling in my chest until I break contact, offering the beanie and a warm smile. He accepts it with an anguished groan, japing it on to hide his hair, eyes sunken in dark bags as he watches me sit and slide a muffin to him.

“There’ll be others,” I reassure softly, his head falling into his hands as he rubs his eyes. “You saw it coming, right?” he states through his cage like fingers as they drag over his beard, shoulders heaving. My face contorts, heart aching at words that weren’t intended as accusations, but stung all the same. “Yeah,” I admit, leaning into the table to peek up to his face, the chunks of his hair left uncovered swirling a deeper purple, barely noticeable beneath the blue. Carefully I sweep the locks away, embarrassment and concern colouring my finger tips, a sharp pain dusting the top of my right arm, “that’s why I planned coffee.” His head lifts, chestnut eyes looking at me with a mixture of affection and thanks, the strength of his jaw and broad shoulders that stretched on forever standing as a great contradiction to the man’s softness. His eyes shift as he watches me, his strong fingers wringing together as nerves tremble beneath his heather grey sweater, concern colouring his cheeks as his face falls and lips press into a critical line. He lets out another groan, forehead now resting on the table. “Awwh damn it,” he expels, the server wobbling towards our table with unsteady drinks, “what is it this time?” “Jeremy,” I try to reason, but he powers forward, defeated. “C’mon, Y/N, spit it out. What other horrible thing’s gonna happen?”

“Slide all the way to the left when she sets the drinks down,” I sigh, giving in, “and take your muffin with you. I’m not having a $5 investment destroyed.” On command the waitress arrives, stumbling in her heels as she sets our drinks down, Jeremy’s toppling to smash across the bench; though his spot is no longer occupied. Pressing his body against the opposite side of the booth, his hands grip the cupcake with a comical face, his right shoulder sprayed with now nonthreatening glass fragments. Her gushes of apologies have the server rushing to receive his refund and another drink, oblivious to the relieved expression colouring his hair an indigo blue beneath the beanie. “Thanks,” he breathes, lips tugging into a smile as I return it, response time slow from the exhaustion setting into my bones. “No worries,” I reply, sipping on my drink and rolling the warmth between my hands, “it’s what I’m here for.”

“Nah,” he rejects, holding at a hand to me once the waitress has finished mopping up the mess and spewed another incomprehensible number of apologies, “you have other benefits, too.” “Oh yeah?” I tease, accepting the hand after hesitating, warm comfort sizzling my skin, his adoration lacing my knuckles with a refreshing, subtle smell of lemonade. “What else am I good for?” “Being the best damn girlfriend in the world,” he states proudly, a blush rising in his cheeks as he smiles, blooming flowers invading my nose with a gentle tickle. He notices my face twitch, his lips splitting into a smirk. “Too sweet?” “Yeah,” I laugh, a sound now only a few managed to draw from the depths of my chest, “just a little.” “I’ll tone it back,” he tries, but I shake my head, gripping harder to the hand he attempted to retract for my benefit, a faded red pulsating around him momentarily before dissipating.

“Please don’t.” His eyebrows quirk as he smiles softly, placing his other hand atop mine; another gust of flowers swirling. “It smells like spring.” “Aww, spring’s your favourite,” he chuckles, looking genuinely flattered by the impact his actions were having, feelings of comfort leaving my body to taint his own, “does that mean I’m your favourite?” “Would I be about to ask you to move in with me if you weren’t?” The shock of his surprise bites, my hand flinching away as I shake it, trying to expel the stinging and glaring half heartedly. He reacts with stammers, sunflower yellow glowing golden beneath his hat. “Are you serious?” he demands, challenging my offer in disbelief. I just smile, a beaming grin reserved for special occasions. “Of course, I’m ready for it to be spring all the time.” “Won’t it be painful?” “Only when you’re not there.”

  Exhaustion sets in as I force my feet to touch the steps leading home, cracks uneven beneath my sneakers. Tumblers turn with the key I jam into the lock, bitterness catching the back of my tongue distastefully. Opening the door, I expect the familiar moans of the house, the same dusty air to invade my lungs with cold, stinging accusations; but as I brace, nothing comes. Instead the hallway welcomes me, a confusing warmth resonating from the floor boards, cream walls smiling down as I take a tentative step inside.

I can’t remember the last time the house had held so much cheer, uncharacteristic and uncomfortable as I beeline towards the kitchen, the smell of moss so strong it burned. I wanted nothing more than a cup of tea, something warm to fill the hole exhaustion had dug, drained and buried beneath the toll of emotions. Though the offer for Jeremy to move in had been sudden, it felt right. The idea of spring filling the home for even a day sees my heart leap, desperate to wash away the stagnant pain still lingering, burrowed into the carpet.

The kitchen is somehow warmer, the fragrance of forest trees and blooming moss clearing my lungs, giving an unanticipated moment’s peace as I collect the journal from the bag, eyelids weighed down with sleep. Looking up I freeze, book clattering from my hands at the sight of a pained, confused face; eyes silver with agony, hair as pale and shining as silk. Pages spew around my feet, fluttering in the astonishment tainting my skin with cold nausea, the smell of forest far too strong. My kitchen flickers with his static form, void of pigmentation bar the translucence mirroring the longing emptiness swirling in my chest at the sight of his panic, dwelling in the smell of his burning frustration.

He seems equally taken aback, eyes searching my face and hair constantly shifting in the still air, question faint and fractured as it shatters the silence. “Y/n, where am I?” The sound of my name uttered in a whisper from his still lips has the world flashing, darkness swallowing my vision and filling my senses with the smell of stale pond water and the hammering of rain before I’m spinning, gripping the bench to stop my knees from buckling. The kitchen swims into a fuzzy focus, the alarm in his eyes screaming while his face struggles to remain calm, childlike confusion peeking through the mask with every twitch of his lips. “How do you know my name?” I’m surprised by the strength of my voice, unwavering and brimming with authority. At the sound the man’s head shakes, attempting to back away with his hands raised in surrender, he movement flickering through his body.

“You told me,” he urges, blue eyes pleading and scared, “I told you mine was Ryan, remember?” “No,” I say shortly, trying to control the wobble shaking my legs as I push through the undergrowth clogging my mind with a freezing sharpness, lungs struggling to operate through the waters of anxiety pressing down, “you left before I could tell you.” “Oh, that... happens sometimes,” he admits, embarrassment tainting the world a deep blush pink, sweet like scorched caramel. I cling to the emotional embodiment like a life line, hauling back to plant myself firmly back home; his words swimming through as his lips make no effort to form a whisper, “I’ve never met someone who could hear me before. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

I shake my head, expelling the remaining foreign memories to sink to the floor, knees colliding with faint thuds against the wooden boards. The smell of moss washes over me, curling around my shoulders as his image fades with my realisation, understanding thick with sympathy. Though he no longer stands before me, I feel his presence, warm and confused as it settles on the opposite side of the kitchen. “Did you follow me home?” I ask, vainly hoping that the answer would go against my better judgement, but the confirmation I needed doesn’t come. Instead a strained, sorrowful tone greets my question, “I don’t think so...?”