#after struggling to get it out through a solid thirty seconds of wheezing

[cherryblossomfaewilds]

/southern cowboy drawl/ now boss, miller doesnt know this, and i dont want you to tell 'im because i dont think he'll like it and i dont want to deal with his complainin'. he thinks dd's name stands for diamond dog, and if he continues to believe that its all the better. but boss, if youre ever out on a mission with dd and you need him to respond to you, all you need to say is "deez nuts deez nuts" and-

[hollowsart]

OK I FOUND THE SUBMISSIONS BOX HAVE SOME SPAMTON MINECRAFT HCS

[Ghostie note: cutting this cuz holy crud this is a whole dang fanfic-- sdjkfhsk thank you omg-- I didn't expect this upon waking up wow]

==================

Okay, first things first, you jokingly ask if he wants the AC shaders, and he's like "I HAVE NO [4.99$] IDEA WHAT THAT IS, BUT [Let's do it gang]!"

You failed to mention that the shader pack is actually called Acid Shaders. His confusion at why the whole minecraft world is twisty and weird has you wheezing.

You decide to play in peaceful because both you and Spamton could use just a world to practice building skills. Plus he seems quite fond of it.

Naturally you show him how to get started, and start obliterating some oak trees. You have to tell him to replant them a few times, but he soon gets the hang of it.

You insist on grabbing a bunch of oak logs and saplings for making a house, so you both get a whole bunch.

 Then you take a quick caving trip, get some cobblestone and coal and iron, the works.

Spamton quickly finds out that sand is affected by gravity, as you both get squashed under several blocks of sand and he squawks.

You and him decide to build a house in the wall of something because it'd be cute, but then you consider making it in a ravine.

Several forests, a few plains, some extreme hills, an ocean, a ruined underwater city, a dark oak forest, a desert, and a village later, you both finally find an actual ravine between a plains biome and a taiga.

You water bucket mlg down and Spamton is immediately like "WAIT, [#!?$] THE PRESSES, HOW THE [[Fifty percent off]] DID YOU DO THAT?!?! [Here's how] DO I DO THAT???!!?!?!"

You let him land in a nearby water spring and give him a bucket of water, before letting him practice hopping off a four block tall pillar and catching himself in the water.

You focus on building the house while you let him do that, and hear him take damage like 14 times. After that, though, he's pretty good at it, and you smelt some cobble into stone, and then into smooth stone for the floors.

You leave the work in progress house to get it after doing up the walls that are mostly buried in the side of the ravine wall, and see Spamton mlging.

into the ravine.

for fun.

Yeah he struggles to get the hang of it, but once he does, oh man.

You use some lanterns to light the house and move the chests, furnace, and crafting table inside.

Spamton suggests adding a pond or a grassy floor to the ravine, and you decide Hey why not add a pond.

You add the pond and go fishing for a while, and then give some fish to Spamton and offer to help him get a cat.

He's completely ecstatic.

He speeds off to the village and tames a bunch of them. You just adopted a little white cat. He got a tuxedo and a calico cat, and he spent a solid five minutes fawning over them.

You turned your back for thirty seconds to go chech for chests before he shouts something like "HOLY [Cungadero] AN ABANDONED [Facility]!!!!!"

Yeah he found a mineshaft. At the bottom of an underground ravine. One that would have absolutely killed someone who fell in through one of the small holes in the hill.

He's all excited to find some diamonds so you two leave the cats sitting in a villager's house and go down.

After about ten minutes you lose Spamton, but he seems to be okay so you don't worry.

Until after about another five minutes he's quietly sobbing.

"[[Angel]]...?"

"Yeah Spammy?"

"I'M [Lost and found]... WHERE'S THE WAY BACK TO [HEAVEN]?"

"I mean, you can always mine a tunnel back to the surface."

"PICKAXE BROKE."

Luckily he's still in the mineshaft so you walk him through making himself another iron pick while looking for him. He calms down once he's got it and after a few moments you ask where he is.

"GETTING [KROMER]."

"Okay, are you in the same place as before?"

"NOPE."

Now both of you are hopelessly lost and Spamton is no help at all.

You both wind up digging staircases out and meeting up at the village to get the cats. He tosses you something and goes "I DON'T [Trustworthy Sellers from] MYSELF WITH [These sweet deals]."

Lo and behold, he's tossed you twenty five diamonds.

Twenty five. Mother&#@$ing. Diamonds.

"Spam where did you get these."

"I SAID I WAS GETTING [KROMER]."

"tHIS MANY THOUGH?????"

You both get back to the ravine house and make beds. Spamton freaks out when he can't open a chest, so you have to tell him to push the cat off of it.

The next day you work on getting some grass into the ravine. You kinda cheese it by making a dirt staircase down and setting the tick speed to three thousand.

He's in awe as the grass practically scuttles down to the floor.

Afterwards you both realize you haven't eaten lunch and it's two in the afternoon so you log off to get something.

If you want me to send in more lmk!

[vannahfanfics]

Quiet Strength

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo, Ochako Uraraka

Greetings, all~! Here is my next entry for the @bnhabookclub​’s Bingo Event, for the prompt “First Aid”! Kacchako stans, come get y’all food! \^u^/

Thundering howls of laughter rumbled from Katsuki’s throat as his gauntleted fist crashed through the solid boulder, sending pebbles and baseball-sized rocks sailing in every direction. Steam billowed from the magma seeping from the ultra-hot stone he had essentially liquified with the power of his explosion; the wispy white smoke kissed his sweaty, flushed face and tickled his tousled blonde locks before disappearing into the air. He yanked his fist from the crumbled rock, flexing his fingers experimentally, and hissed at the stinging pain that bloomed across his palm.

What had been the flame-retardant leather devised by the Support Course was now nothing more than a few tattered scraps barely clinging together. Dammit. Now I’ll have to submit for an upgrade. Who knows how long that crap’ll take? He scowled and shook his hand in the air. The bright pink skin wailed at the contact with the rushing wind, sending tendrils of fiery pain jolting up his arm and even into the junction of his shoulder. Katsuki ignored the sharp tingle, stepping over the destroyed piles of rocks to pick his way back down the slope to the floor of the gym.

“Wow, Bakugo!” Eijirou’s ruby eyes glittered in admiration. “You made short work of those boulders! Even in Unbreakable Mode, it took me a few hits!”

“Of course I did, dumbass,” Katsuki snorted and snatched his water bottle from the floor. He winced; in his lack of thought, he had grabbed the plastic container with his dominant hand- the burned one. The condensation littering the cold surface seeped into the singed flesh, making the raw meat there scream in agony. Katsuki only clenched his teeth and sucked down the water, then tossed the now-empty bottle into the garbage can in the corner.

“All right. You all have been at it for two hours,” Mr. Aizawa frowned while glancing at the screen of his smartphone. The gym echoed with exhausted gasps and reeked with the stench of exertion. “You’re done for the day.” Katsuki flexed his hand again, scowling as the pain rocketed through his nerves once more.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Fuck!” Katsuki exclaimed as the water cascaded down onto his wounded palm. He hadn’t anticipated the burn would be so severe. The skin over his fingers and palm bubbled up in several blisters, already filled with fluid though it hadn’t been thirty minutes. The water, though only lukewarm, felt like lava streaming over the injured skin. Katsuki fumbled to wash his body and hair with his non-dominant hand, keeping the burning flesh well away from the shower’s thundering stream. He didn’t even use it to towel himself dry.

“God damn son of a bitch,” he grumbled under his breath as he clumsily fumbled into his sweatpants and a tee-shirt. Why couldn’t it have been his other hand? “Fuckfuckfuck!” he cried as he lost his balance and began hopping around on one foot, his leg half-caught in the thick fabric of the sweats. An angry roar burst from his throat as he slipped in a small puddle of water and fell hard right on his rump. His tailbone wailed protest, spasming the muscles in his lower back, and he unleashed every curse in the dictionary and then some as he writhed on the damp bathroom floor. The skin of his palm pulsed with its own heartbeat, sending fireworks of pain up his arm with every drum. “Fuck me.”

Somehow, he managed to get his clothes on, finally. However, now on top of the burn, his lower back was aching something terrible. He limped into the common room, ignoring the content chattering of his classmates on the sofas to instead hobble into the kitchen. He winced at the stretch as he reached up to begin rifling through cabinets for painkillers and burn cream. He was too invested in his search to see Ochako meander into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of milk.

“Oh, Katsuki!”

“Jesus Christ-! Fuck, shit, fuck, damn it, ahh!” he cursed as he jumped and slammed his burned palm on the underside of the counter. Holding his wrist, he leaned over the granite and wheezed out an exaggerated whine. “What?!” he snarled as the girl scampered over to him.

“Your hand! How did you get such a terrible burn?!” Katsuki ignored the question. Ochako’s brown eyebrows knitted together as she inspected the bubbly flesh of his palm and the clear, sticky liquid oozing from the blister that had just burst. Katsuki clicked his tongue at her simpering piteous expression.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that. I’m fine,” he huffed. He glanced into the cabinet and found that he had been groping around the Silvadene cream the entire time. With a snort, he plucked it from the cabinet and struggled to open it one-handed.

“L-let me!” Ochako insisted and snatched the short, squat bottle of medicine from him. Katsuki turned around to rest his back against the counter, watching with critical red eyes as she quickly removed the lid.

“I didn’t ask for your help, Uraraka.”

“No, you didn’t, but you’re getting it anyway,” she responded coolly, making the corner of his mouth twitch. She slathered a healthy chunk of the goopy liquid onto her first two fingers before gesturing with her chin. “Open up your hand and spread out your fingers.” Though he loathed the fact that he required aid, refusing her now wasn’t worth the energy. Silently, he did as bid. His shoulders twinged with the flexion of his burned fingers. Ochako slopped the bright white cream onto the middle of his palm, and he melted into the countertop with a shaky exhale.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he breathed. Ochako smiled sweetly and began spreading the paste across his palm and up onto the undersides of his fingers. A cooling numb spread over the inflamed cells, quieting the piercing pain that had been pulsing in his hand since training had ended. He watched her careful motions with lidded eyes.

“You should be careful, you know,” she chastised him gently. “Even you have your limits. I know you want to get stronger, but nothing will come of pushing yourself to the point that it’s destructive.” Katsuki clicked his teeth at her, cocking his head to the side in a vain gesture. Ochako only smiled and applied a second layer of burn cream to his hand.

“You’re one to talk, Cheeks. What was that whole business with tryin’ to drop the stadium on my head, ah?” The Sports Festival had been months ago, but Katsuki still remembered their fight vividly. The way her body wobbled and sagged to the side, how she struggled with trembling arms to even bear her own weight, the glaze in her chestnut eyes as she struggled to keep her consciousness… His eyelashes fluttered to banish the illusion of the scene as she spoke.

“I have the authority to speak on it because I’ve been there,” she sighed. She stopped her ministrations to hold Katsuki’s hand up with both her own, Silvadene-coated fingertips smearing the medicine over the top of his hand. “Sometimes… everyone else just seems so great in comparison that it feels like I’ll never catch up. In that fight, I was so desperate to prove that I belong here… but it was destructive. I will grow stronger, but with time and effort, not with leaps and bounds born from destroying my body.” Katsuki’s eyes widened as he looked at her. The truth rang hollowly in him. Begrudged as he was to admit it, she was totally right. She smiled warmly up at him and then flicked him in the forehead.

“Hey,” he warned, and she giggled cutely.

“I don’t need another Deku on my hands! It’s bad enough that he’s broken half the bones in his body before the age of sixteen!” She exhaled deeply and retrieved a swathe of bandages. She unpinned the tan, thick fabric, then gently began rolling it around the palm of his hand. “You’ll get stronger, and I will too. We just both need time.” Katsuki frowned and looked away from her, debating whether or not to acknowledge the fact that she was right out loud.

“… All right, all right, I get your point,” Katsuki admitted after several seconds of silence. Ochako pinned the bandages with a small safety clasp and lowered her hands. The fabric was cumbersome around his hand and wrist, and he couldn’t even close his fist entirely. Still, the pain had been reduced to a dull ache that he could easily ignore with distraction. “Hey,” he said as she turned to retrieve her glass of milk, which still lay untouched on the countertop. When she looked back at him with an inquiring look, he blushed and pawed at his gym shorts, not really sure why he had stopped her.

“I, ugh… Thanks,” Katsuki fumbled and raised his bandaged hand. Ochako blinked at him, taking a moment to realize his gesture of gratitude, before smiling sweetly. Before she could respond, he abruptly grabbed her by the head and pulled her into his chest. She squeaked his name with her hands flapping about, not sure where she should place them.

“Hey,” he said softly. Ochako relaxed, and her hands drifted down to rest on his biceps. “You be careful, too. You think I’m stupid? I see you walking home every day wobbling like a drunk, and you threw up four fucking times at training today.” He felt heat bloom across his pectorals as her face heated up. He dropped his mouth against her hair, inhaling her scent of vanilla shampoo. “You be careful, too, dumbass. Who else is gonna take care of me when I go too far?”

“Hehe, okay,” she acknowledged with an eager nod. She pulled away from Katsuki to beam up at him with those big brown eyes that made his heart melt. Snorting at his sappiness, he lightly pushed her away, but the gesture was laced with affection. “Drink your milk, Cheeks. I’m goin’ to bed.”

“Aw! But we’re playing charades tonight!”

“Now I’m definitely goin’ to bed.” As he whirled on his heel, Ochako scampered up to hug his arm and bat her eyelashes pleadingly at him. Katsuki grimaced, but she grinned victoriously as a rosy haze spread over his cheeks.

“Please, Bakugo? Just a few rounds! You should see Kaminari’s impression of a crab; it’s too funny!”

“Agh, whatever, as long as you stop climbin’ all over me like a spider monkey!” he cried and shook his arm emphatically. She stubbornly clung to him like glue, cackling mischievously. “Come on! Let go!” he whined and pushed on her head. Finally, she relented, releasing him from her grip. “Bah, what am I going to do with you?” he growled and ran a hand through his ash-blond hair.

“Aw, Bakugo, don’t pretend you don’t like me!” she said coyly and stuck out her tongue. She gasped in dismay when he snatched up her glass of milk and drained it to the last drop. “Hey! That was mine!” she pouted and snatched the empty glass from him. Katsuki sneered and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes glittering playfully.

“That’s what you get for messin’ with me, Cheeks.”

“Ya big meanie!” she snorted, then smiled and nudged him in the ribs. She retrieved the gallon jug from the refrigerator and poured herself another, then skipped to the entryway. “Come on, let’s go!” she insisted and tugged the band of his watch. He allowed her to pull him along by jerking on the device. She smiled radiantly when they entered the common room, greeting their classmates and excitedly scampering over to the sofas to begin the game of charades. Bakugo leaned against the back of the couch, watching her with a tiny smile.

In his mind, Ochako really didn’t need to get stronger. She was plenty strong, but it was not the strength of a physical kind. It was a quiet strength of care and passion. Plenty strong for a reckless dumbass like me, he smirked in amusement. As she clapped happily to Eijirou’s comical rendition of a koala, she caught his eye and smiled warmly.

Plenty strong. Nothin’ frail about her.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List:  @sadistiks​ @wesparklebitch​ @deliathedork​ @simplybakugou​

[srhlsx]

Rewritten & Reposted March 23, 2021

MASTER | Ch. 2 | CHAPTER 3 | Ch. 4

It was early.

Not too early that the birds weren’t chirping, but just early enough that the sun had yet to fully warm up the ground below you. A foggy mist was still lifting from the wet grass, evaporating and making the air deceitfully cooler than it actually was. 

The doors to the small side gym were rusty and took a good effort to open, both of your hands gripped the edges of the metal doors and you pulled with all of your weight. You let out a rough grunt when the doors finally opened fully, stumbling a little as they jammed into place with a sound that told you they were not moving again without a great deal of force.

“It’s not like we are some secondary team,” Rumi spoke up from behind you, annoyance in her tone as she tied her hair back. “We literally won Interhigh. We should get to be in our regular gym.”

“Yeah, well,” You shrugged without much thought, wiping your hands on your shorts. “It’s academy week, we’re lucky enough there’s a spare gym to use in the first place.”

Rumi squinted down at you, her hands resting on her hips. “Someone’s grumpy. You hardly had anything to drink last night so you definitely aren’t hungover.”

You stared up at her with your tongue pressing against your cheek, not sure how she even managed to catch onto your slightly sour mood in the first place. Her eyebrow flicked up in question and you knew this wasn’t something that you were just going to get by with ignoring. “My dad again,” You rolled your eyes. “It’s… whatever.”

“It’s not whatever but I’ll let you by this time.” Rumi stared at you for a moment longer before she slung her bag into the gym carelessly. “Run it off.”

You nodded and copied her actions and threw your own sports bag into the dark of the gym, a plume of dust puffing into the air as it landed. After slipping on your outdoor sneakers and tightening the laces, you bounced up onto the balls of your feet and nodded that you were ready to go.

The crisp morning air was refreshing. The pounding of both your feet on the earth was a welcome distraction from the growing burn in your lungs and the thoughts swirling in your head. The further you ran, the hotter it became, and soon you were wiping sweat from your hairline - a few wayward strands that had come loose from your top-knot slicked back into place with your perspiration. 

“By the way,” Rumi huffed out. “Did you get that guy’s number last night?”

“Ha!” You barked out, huffing a bit for air as you ran and talked at the same time. “He asked for mine.”

“And?” She pushed, clearly not amused.

“I said I’d see him around,” You shrugged. 

You glanced over to see Rumi shaking her head at you, “You are seriously the worst.”

As you rounded the corner on your last lap around the campus, leg muscles feeling like they were finally waking up with a burning sensation, you could hear the distant sounds of low voices yelling. It was coming from the area where the main gyms were, and you knew the yells were because of a punishing run up the infamous Shinzen hill. You did not envy those who had to run the hill. 

“What?” You nudged her with your shoulder as you continued. 

“He was cute, (y/n).”

“And?” You replied. “I do not have the time to add anything else to my life.”

“He was into you,” She continued to shake her head. “You’re seriously an idiot.”

If you squinted hard enough, you were sure you would be able to distinguish between the bodies that were loitering around the doors of the main gym where the boys volleyball camp was being held, but with the sun rising in that direction you couldn’t make out much. You had to tell yourself that, no, you were not looking for a specific person, you didn’t even know the guy - yet, when your attention was dragged away again by Rumi you couldn’t help the disappointment that crowded your heart at not seeing a specific head of gray and black hair.

“Race to the end?” She wheezed out, a glint in her eyes showing how truly competitive she was feeling. 

You smirked at the question, of course you were going to race her to the end, any chance at competition between the two of you was never passed up. Eating, holding your breath, sprints, volleys in a row - anything you can name was a competition between you and your long time friend and teammate.

You grabbed onto the waistband of her athletic shorts and yanked backwards, making her slow down and almost stumble as you sprinted forward - seeing as she was a solid ten centimeters taller than you, you needed all the advantage you could get - plus, your competitions were never clean fights to begin with. 

Rumi yelled after you, calling you all sorts of names and sprinting to catch up - pulling on the back of the shirt you were wearing, making you cough and choke slightly. You reached back and shoved your hand in her face, laughing as she grunted and fought back. 

The race to the gym doors continued this way, both of you actually fighting one another for the lead until finally you stumbled first through the open door and landed on the floor at the feet of your teammates. 

“One of these days,” A voice above you said, annoyed tone evident as they spoke. “You two are going to get hurt, then where will that leave us?”

“I’ve got to be honest, Ms. Goh,” You said, getting up from the floor and dusting yourself off, an air of pride coming off you as you knew you had won. “If it means beating the sh-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” The woman in front of you shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Change your shoes, you’re getting dirt on the court.”

“It’s hardly a court.” Rumi scoffed from behind you, her breathing starting to settle down. “Stupid boys with their stupid camp and their stupid-”

A deep voice cleared their throat from the doors of the gym, alerting everyone present to get their act together. Rumi stiffened considerably and looked over her shoulder to the looming figure requesting all attention. “Now, now,” The man said, walking into the gym with his hands behind his back and a subtle smile on his face. “Let’s turn all that pent up aggression into a meaningful practice, yes?”

*

Taking a break after the first set of the day, Bokuto stood at the top of the steps that lead to the main Shinzen fieldhouse. He watched as the team he just played ran up the steep, grass covered hill famous for serving as punishments. Bokuto wasn’t a slacker in any part of his training, but watching the way others struggled to get to the top made him grateful he wasn’t in their shoes.

Off in the distance, a pair of runners caught Bokuto’s attention. Raising his water bottle to take another swig, he could tell they were girls and he squinted his golden eyes to get a better look. Because, who wouldn’t?

Instantly he knew it was you and his heart squeezed just a little. That’s new.

Your legs were flexing with each step you took, a light sheen of sweat glimmering off your skin. Your hair was piled on top of your head, looking like some of it had come loose from running. With every breath you took, your chest heaved up and down, a loud laugh echoing down to where he stood when he saw you pull on your friend’s clothing and sprint ahead of her. 

The yelling also caught the attention of the person Bokuto was standing next to; his lazy gaze looking up to see the two girls literally fighting each other as they raced towards what looked like a rundown version of the building they were currently playing in.

“Are those the girls from the other night?” Kuroo asked, squeezing a stream of water into his mouth as he caught his breath after finishing his running punishment.

“Uh yeah,” Bokuto coughed a little, nervous he had been caught staring. “Looks like it.”

“You’re oddly quiet.” Kuroo mused, nudging his long-time friend with his elbow, his goading nature coming out. “Has something finally managed to shut you up? A certain girl, by chance?”

Bokuto shoved his friend away, pushing his hand into Kuroo’s face and walking back into the gym as the teams started gathering up again. No way was he going to admit that yes this girl, who he didn’t even know, who he’d talked to once in his life, was in fact taking up a lot of space in his mind. He wanted to turn back around and keep watching you, but wanting the relentless teasing that Kuroo was capable of to be cut short, he instead walked up to his teammates and began strategizing for their next match.

The afternoon hours passed by, Bokuto and his teammates continued to mercilessly challenge the other schools there and won far more times than they lost. 

Bokuto, Kuroo, and Akaashi had just finished up a little extra practice in a side gym and were walking to the cafeteria to rummage up a bit of dinner, hoping there was still some left over from the other teams. They were chatting idly about camp and their upcoming matches, Bokuto excitedly talking up everything while Akasshi managed to keep him from running into anything.

As they passed the more beat up gym on the Shinzen campus, Bokuto saw that the lights were still on. What Bokuto also noticed, and caused him to slow down his walking, was the yelling and sound of sneakers that came from the gym. Kuroo and Akasshi must’ve noticed as well as they too slowed to a stop - looking towards each other, then at the gym, then at one another again. They were certain they had been the last group practicing together so they had no idea who else could be there.

The double doors to the gym were open and it was easy to see inside without having to be in the actual doorway. The grunts and shouts of people within the gym were more distinct now that they could see what was going on. The sight before them was one they wouldn’t soon forget. 

A woman in her mid thirties stood near the edge of the court next to a basket of balls, every few seconds or so she was tossing them into the air across the court towards where a familiar face was standing. Rumi was crouched down, knees bent as her eyes never left the ball flying towards her, at the perfect moment she lifted herself from the ground, hands extended, and delicately lofted the ball into a perfect spiking position.

The loud sound of a pair of sneakers against the wood flooring signaled the approach of another member of the team. She swung her arms back and launched into the air, matching up with Rumi’s set perfectly as her arm swung forward and connected with a resounding smack. Simply watching their movements alone, the guys were surely expecting to hear the tell-tale sound of a ball impacting the floor.

But it never did.

A loud grunt, the sound of a body hitting the floor, and a ball flying up into the air. A small voice shouted, “Got it!” and the drill continued again and again.

Bokuto looked across the court to see you, throat constricting as his heart rate seemed to double at the sight. You were flying across the court, dive after dive as the spiking drill never let up. The steady interval of balls getting hit every few seconds was almost dizzying to watch, but not once did a ball come in contact with the ground when you were on the other side of the net.

“Ladies, it is one against ten here!” An older man jokingly yelled from where he watched on the far side of the court,clapping his hands in encouragement. “Surely someone can get past her.”

Bokuto continued to watch as you dove into impossible positions to keep any and all attacks from hitting the ground. You flung out an arm and caught one ball with your wrist and sent it flying back over the net. Not a moment later, you were sprawled in a near split as you connected the top of your foot with an attempt to catch you off guard. It continued for ages and Bokuto never tore his eyes away.

“Pick your jaw up, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi said as Kuroo reached over at the same time to help Bokuto with just that. “You’ll drool on the floor.”

“Akaashi! I am not drooling” Bokuto whined a little too loudly, catching the attention of the girl’s team in the gym.

“Peeping Toms!” One of your teammates yelled from across the gym.

The sound of his voice caught your attention and made you look up briefly, in a moment of distraction Rumi was sure she caught you off guard and switched up her setting in favor of a dump. Of course, you saw the gleam in her eye and jumped forward and managed to catch the ball with your fingertips at the last second. Rumi let out a strain of profanities that left your team advisor blushing furiously as you rolled over onto your back.

Exhausted, you laughed boisterously and sat up with your legs spread before you like a ragdoll. “Good to see you again, Top Five!”

*

[yourfaveisyanderematic]

Date Night

For @meltic-daze, who wanted a Polnareff pining after his S/O!  Took a bit of liberty with this one, hope you like it anyway!  Congrats on choosing your university!

Your reservations for dinner at the Caprice were at six-thirty that evening, which meant that Jean-Pierre Polnareff had been preparing since well before noon.  Everything had to be perfect, after all.

He rose with the sun, enjoying the normal routine: three-mile jog first, cold shower next, finishing with a breakfast of whatever the locals enjoyed (here in Hong Kong that meant egg and satay beef with toast) paired with hot black coffee.  By the time eight-thirty found him he almost ready for the day, styling his hair with an attention to detail many would call ‘vanity’.  Polnareff preferred to call it discipline; everything in his life had to be attended to in neat and particular detail.  Things were at their most beautiful when they fell exactly into place, and today was no exception.  He winked at his passing reflection as he stepped outside the hotel room.  The day was coming when his mornings wouldn’t be so solitary, he just knew it.

Nine o’clock came and went as the sun overhead turned from mild to overbearing, beating on the crowded pavement.  It was a good thing his destination wasn’t a very far walk, even accounting for all the extra scouting he’d have to do.  When he finally arrived, double-checking the address against a hastily handwritten note, he couldn’t help but nod in approval.

Caprice must have been doing well; its premises enjoyed the pricey real-estate of the Hong Kong waterfront, giving diners an excellent view of the Victoria Harbor waterfront as they treated themselves to exquisite French cuisine.  And they were a Michelin star awardee, three of them!  What impeccable taste.  He took a moment to indulge in imagining the walk with you here.  He could see it now: the brightness of your smile, the flattering cut of your dress, the beautiful figure you’d make as you held his arm…if he found himself grinning like a fool as he snagged a copy of the night’s menu and made for a shaded spot across the road, who could blame him?

All play and no work wouldn’t make for a good evening, though.  He thumbed through the menu, mentally referencing what he knew of your likes against Caprice’s offerings for the night.  After that, it was another patrol around the block, mapping out the locations of alleys and potential hazards.  After that, it was casing Caprice’s premises again, checking on all the entrances and windows.  After that, it was waiting for the grocers to come by with the meat and produce needed for the day, to make sure it was all up to par.  After that, it was checking the streetlights.

After that, it was making sure he knew where the dumpsters were.

—

Evening came, bringing with it a balmy nighttime breeze and the sense of hopeful anticipation.  You didn’t normally go to pricey restaurants like Caprice, but your date insisted on treating you, and it was kind of fun to dress up once in a while.

You gave yourself a critical once-over in the mirror.  Were you trying too hard?  Was the perfume over the top?  Yes or no on the earrings?  Was it strange to wear jewelry another man gave you to a date?  Maybe—there you go again.  You took a deep breath and stopped yourself before you fell into a spiral of self-doubt.  Something your friend said about posture came to you…you squared your shoulders and pulled yourself up a little more, trying to project a little more confidence.  You looked…fine?  The heart-shaped earrings you were trying on gleamed in the light, perfectly accenting the color of your dress.  

Yeah, you were keeping them.  You reached for your clutch and evening jacket and stepped out the door, sending your date a quick text to let him know you were on your way.  He was supposed to meet you there, something your friend had been frowning about, but work kept him busy sometimes—a fact you would have to get used to if this relationship was going to go anywhere—and who died and left Jean-Pierre in charge of what was gentlemanly, anyway?

—

Scott cursed to himself and sped up his pace, dodging around pedestrians not walking quickly enough for him.  If he pushed it any faster, he’d be showing up to your dinner disheveled and sweaty, which was embarrassing, but being more than a half hour late was even worse.  He squinted at his phone, re-reading your last few texts and tapping out an apology as he rounded another corner, darting through the dark pool of a broken streetlight.  He was almost there.

Hey, I’m really sorry, he typed, eyes fixed on his phone, I’m—

Something grabbed him by the neck and pulled, lifting him clean off his feet and dragging him sideways into the waiting mouth of a side street.  He slammed against the brick wall with a painful thud, kicking his feet helplessly.  Something skittered to the side with the scraping sounds of plastic, and out of the corner of his eye he could see his phone, screen still illuminated with the message he had been trying to send.

“You’ve kept me waiting, you piece of shit.”  His attacker’s words were calm and dangerous, emphasized by the sudden increase of pressure on his throat, cutting off his air.  What the hell was holding him?  His hands swatted at empty air, trying and failing to force whatever was holding him away.

“I don’t—“ Scott wheezed, unsure of what he would have said even if he could complete the sentence.  I don’t know what you’re talking about?  I don’t have any money?

“You really don’t, do you?  You don’t deserve to clean the mud from her shoes, much less enjoy her company.”  It was too dark too see much, but the other man was tall, tall enough to be at eye level even with Scott’s feet dangling a good four inches off the ground.  His first instinct was to lash out, try to get loose and run away, but he could feel the power in his attacker’s physique as he roughly pinned Scott’s arm to the side and began searching through his pockets.  

“It’s dangerous to walk these streets alone, especially after dark.  Does her safety matter that little to you?  You’d really be careless enough to send her somewhere strange by herself, sitting on your ass until you felt like joining her?  You’d dare insult her like that?”  Scott felt his wallet and keys leave his pocket still struggling to catch up to what was happening.  Was this a mugging after all?  Some weird vigilante stunt?  

And then the other guy’s fist hit him, squarely in the solar plexus, and a sunrise bloomed behind his eyelids and all Scott could think was oh my god don’t kill me don’t let me die I’m sorry I won’t—

“Mon dieu, listen to you snivel.  That was just a love tap.”  Contempt dripped from his attacker’s lips, and Scott realized he’d been released, falling to his knees in a limp heap, too busy trying to remember how to breathe to make a run for it.  Had he been murmuring those words, that litany of please for mercy?  He wheezed.

“You’ve already got my money,” he whispered, hands raised, “you can take my phone—I don’t have anything else—please just let me—“

“Let you go?”  The other man repeated, apparently unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth.  “You mean you aren’t even going to try to fight back?”  A car passed the street they were near, briefly offering enough light to see by, and for a single second Scott finally saw the other man’s face.  There was something vaguely familiar about him, as if they’d passed each other in the street once before, but what struck Scott most in that instant was his eyes.  They were steel-grey, highlighted by sharp cheeks and a striking brow, but utterly without light or pity.  They could have belonged to a shark.

And in that moment, with complete and horrible clarity, Scott knew this man planned to kill him.

He took a chance, scrambling to the side and filling his lungs with breath.  “H-“

Blood filled his mouth instantly as something pierced his tongue and the flesh of the chin below it, strangling his cry and making him choke.  His hands flew to his mouth, a reflexive attempt to staunch the flow and defend against whatever inflicted the agony, but he couldn’t see the blade that stabbed him.

The other man hadn’t even moved.  

“I could be a villain.  A rapist, a killer, some swine that saw your girl and decided he wanted to have her for himself.  And when confronted with this, your instinct is to…grovel?  To beg?  Would you have thrown her to whoever asked if it meant you could flee with your skin intact?”

Whatever stabbed him was still there, Scott realized, because he couldn’t close his mouth, and something pushed further until a point dug into his throat, just above the clavicle.  Writhing in agony didn’t budge it, didn’t do anything, as if the air itself had turned solid and was holding him in place.  All he could do was feel the blood trickle down his throat, unable to even cough as it began to flow down his windpipe and into his lungs.  

“I won’t waste her time any more than you already have.  Goodbye.”

It was with those words in his ears that Scott died, a sword he couldn’t see driving itself even deeper and impaling his heart with surgical precision.

Polnareff took a deep, shuddering breath and stepped away from the body, snatching up the phone before its screen turned off.  He’d gotten more worked up than he thought…it wouldn’t do to approach you like this.  You might get worried.

With barely a thought he ordered Silver Chariot to get to work, propping open the lid of the nearby dumpster.

—

You were an idiot.

It was impossible to keep a sigh down, rereading your latest message with a heavy feeling in your chest that was something worse than disappointment.  

Hey, I’m really sorry, but I can’t do this.  It’s not you, it’s me, I swear.  Get home safe.

Sure.  Sure, okay, Scott.  Asshole.

Was there any point in hanging around here, anymore?  You could afford the plate, but there was a special kind of humiliation in eating dinner alone when you were supposed to have a date, especially when the waiter kept shooting you sympathetic glances.  You raised your hand to ask for the check.

“…oh!  Cherie, what a surprise!”

You jumped at the familiar voice.  Jean was making his way towards you with a broad grin, ignoring the waitress leading him to his own table.  You returned the smile, in spite of yourself.

“Hi, Jean.  Wow, you’re eating here tonight, too?”

You hadn’t seen him in a suit before.  He cleaned up…well, great, actually.  His eyes passed over your face, apparently thinking the same thing about you, and a blush heated your cheeks as you suddenly remembered you were wearing his earrings.

He pressed a hand to his chest, letting the moment pass.  “Guilty as charged.  It’s nice to have a fine dinner, but nicer still to enjoy it with fine company.  You wouldn’t happen to be with anyone tonight, I hope…?”

Scott’s last message was still burned into your mind, and the flare of anger welling up in you made you adventurous enough to take a chance.  “Oh, no, that’s not…I mean, not at all!  Do you want to sit down?”

His grin got even wider.  “Nothing would make me happier, believe me.”

[theundercovermarvelfan]

(Trying to get back in to writing by catching up with the Whumptober Challenge for @whumptober2019!)

Day Nineteen - Asphyxiation

“Status!”

“Stark and I have successfully infiltrated and captured the ringleader,” Natasha reported. “Stark is working on shutting down the security and then the rest of you slackers can get in here and start cleaning house.” 

“Funny,” Steve said dryly, slightly out of breath. As it had turned out, getting into the facility had been the easy part. Once the rest of the Avengers split up and provided distractions at various points around the facility, their mark had immediately panicked sent his entire army of henchmen outside in order to confront them. “Thor, Barton?”

“These men were no match for me,” Thor boasted triumphantly. “I was honestly hoping for more of a challenge.”

“Could use some help over here then!” Clint gasped into his comm. as he ducked a blow and rammed his combat knife into the man’s gut, remaining crouched and using the now corpse as a shield to give himself a precious few seconds to catch a breath. 

“Barton?” Steve prompted. 

Clint shoved the body into the next man who ran to confront him. “Perch was compromised,” he said as he whirled, tearing the knife from the dead man’s gut and throwing it another another. “Getting a bit overrun over here.” 

Of course the bulk of the army would end up on his side of the facility after he lost his advantage of distance.

“I’m on my way!” Steve promised. “Thor, head for Barton’s location!” 

“On it!” Thor assured as thunder rumbled. “Barton, I will be there shortly, just hang on.” 

Clint knew how big the compound was and he knew that he had several minutes before even Thor would be able to reach him. He took down two more henchmen, but as he turned to take on a third that was coming at him, he could glimpse nine more men appearing from the direction of the facility. 

“Goddamnit,” Clint breathed. He was good, but taking on ten armed henchmen after thirty minutes of hard, close combat fighting was pushing him to his limit. 

Clint desperately needed distance. He took just a fraction of a second to visually assess his surroundings. There was a good-sized truss bridge about forty feet behind and to his left, spanning the ravine and the white-watered river below. 

Clint blocked a heavy punch with both his forearms, pressing the man back and using the momentum to send himself back several steps as well, forcing space between them. A gunshot buzzed passed his ear as the reinforcements came within range and Clint lunged, already knowing more bullets were coming after that miss. He took the opportunity to make a break for the bridge as the bullets continued to fly. His odds were better as a moving target. 

As if to personally spite him, a bullet clipped his hip. 

“Son of a bitch,” Clint hissed. But he didn’t dare break stride. 

As he hit the bridge, the wooden base creaked ominously, feeling soft and unsteady under his feet. That wasn’t a good sign, but it was too late to change his strategy now. 

Clint spun around, an arrow already nocked and he let it fly as he immediately drew three more, nocking and firing one at a time in rapid fire. One down, twothreefour down. He took a couple steps back and to the side as he drew another three arrows, rapid firing them as well. Fivesixseven down. And then again, ignoring his protesting muscles. Seveneightnine down. 

So close. He came so damn close to coming out victorious. If there had been one less man in pursuit, Clint would have been fine. After he let that ninth arrow fly, he had time to draw the tenth, but he didn’t have time to nock it onto his bow. The final man launched himself over the victim of that ninth arrow, bodily crashing into Clint and sending him stumbling backward as he struggled to keep his feet under him. The man slammed Clint into the support of the bridge and Clint’s head snapped back against the wooden bar so hard that his vision momentarily whited out. But his hands worked on instinct alone, and he managed to bring the final arrow around and bury it viciously in the man’s neck. 

Clint could hear the cracking of the barrier behind him as the man’s sudden dead weight sagged against him. Without thinking, he pushed the man away, and the leverage needed for that action caused a loud SNAP. Clint had practically inhuman balance from his time at the circus, but even he didn’t have enough time to compensate for the sudden lack of anything between him and the drop behind him. 

Before Clint could form a complete thought, he was in freefall.

There was a flurry of shouting in his comms. but he was far too preoccupied to even begin to comprehend what was being said. As he struggled to turn himself in midair in order to hit the water below feet first, he had enough time to think Oh shit three and a half frantic times in quick succession, which would have given him a better sense of the distance he had fallen if his head hadn’t already been so foggy. The barrier hit the water first, quite possibly saving his life as it broke the surface of the water before he hit it. 

He must have blacked out because he didn’t remember the impact. One minute he was falling, wind whistling past him, and the next he was completely submerged in frigid water. Had he been conscious when he entered the water he had the survival instincts to handle the situation. But he was violently aware that there was water already in his lungs and all logic left him.

He no longer had any conscious control over his lungs. They were spasming painfully, desperately trying to expel the water and take in vital oxygen. He logically knew that this would only kill him faster, but that small voice in his head was completely lost to the blind panic. His chest screamed, burning him from the inside out. Clint knew that he had precious few seconds left and he clawed at the water around him, but suddenly he realized he didn’t know up from down. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was trapped in that state. A few seconds? A few minutes? Several hours? His limbs felt heavy and weren’t quite responding like they should. The fog in his head was getting thicker, weighing down any thoughts of trying to survive this. The world was drifting away, the pain was fading. 

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the end.

And then, all at once, the pain returned full force, rocketing to an even more agonizing level. His lungs were twisting in a vice and it took him a long time to realize that he was coughing. It took even longer to realize that in order to cough… there needed to be air.

He heaved the precious air into his lungs and choked water out, all while his chest was screaming painfully. He reached a hand out blindly, trying to force his fogged brain to catch up with the turn of events. His left hand jammed hard into solid ground next to his right shoulder. His right hand was pinned awkwardly underneath him. As he finally pried his eyes open, he realized that he was lying on his right side, someone’s hand braced firmly on his left shoulder in order to keep him steady and leaning him forward slightly in order to accommodate the water he was still choking up.  

He tried to push the ground away, instincts screaming at him to sit up and take in the situation around him to determine whether or not he was still in danger. But the hand on his shoulder held him firm, and though some small logical voice in the back of his head told him it was because his lungs were still desperately trying to clear all the water from them, he felt fresh panic bubbling under the surface.

“Easy, easy, you’re okay, you’re going to be okay. Get it all up.”

Finally, a low and comforting voice filtered into waterlogged ears. Clint could feel his panic beginning to wane. Maybe he wasn’t dying after all. 

He heaved in a wheezing breath and finally exhaled without any water. Several raspy breaths later and to his immense relief, the pressure on his shoulder finally lessened. He pushed himself over onto his back, blinking water from his eyes as he tried to focus on was what was going on around him. Steve’s face came into focus first as he knelt over Clint. He looked shockingly pale and Clint could still see the edge of fear in his eyes. Clint shifted his gaze and saw Thor hovering just behind Steve, his own features also betraying worry and a hint of fear. Also, Clint belatedly realized that Thor was dripping wet. 

“Clint?” Steve said. 

Clint waved a hand weakly. “S’ill h’re.”

Steve heaved a sigh. Then he put one hand to his ear, shifting his gaze away slightly. “Yeah, yeah, he’s already, he came back around.” He paused and a ghost of a smile passed his lips for just a split second. “Romanoff says that if you do that to her again, she’s going to kill you herself.”

Clint choked on a painful laugh, grimacing as his chest protested profusely at the action. He put a hand to his sternum, suddenly wondering vaguely if he had needed CPR. It would certainly explain why it felt like there was a weight collapsing in on his lungs. 

“Just hang in there,” Steve said. “Romanoff and Stark are bringing around the Quinjet and we’ll get you out of here.” He paused, staring at Clint as if he were afraid to look away.  “Damn, Clint, you scared the shit out of us,” he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, huffing a humorless laugh. 

Clint felt a smirk pulling at his lips. “Jus’ tryin’ to keep things in’eres’ing, Cap.”

[starlessskies94]

The Saint and The Sinner (Negan/BlakeAU)

AU Vampire Negan and Mortal Blake cross paths but what will they make of each other? @neganandblake this is for you and I hope it doesn’t disappoint ❤️❤️❤️❤️ It is a long one and probably the only chapter I’ll write for this AU but I hope it’s okay and I think I edited most spelling mistakes (I hope) xxx

After six hundred years one might think you’d learn and see all there is to experience about life. But even the simplest of souls could live a mere seventy years and never grasp the truest moments of what it is to truly live.

Sanctuary Falls seemed like your average town, small and idyllic where everyone knew everyone. Surrounded by forests and mountains as far as the eye could see, it seemed like the perfect place to live. But what most innocent eyes couldn’t see was the darkness hidden in the depths. The creatures living in the underworld of the town ready to take the lives of any unlucky mortal that stumbled their way.

And after six centuries of bloodshed and death…Negan was ready for a change. After the death of his beloved Lucille he’d sworn he would never harm another human again. But it was hard, ignoring the instincts and impulses that came naturally after hundreds of years.

The house he’d seen advertised was an old scaled down mansion build; still with its original New England architecture intact. He couldn’t help but admire the workmanship on the place.

“As you can see the place is still in its original state for the most part, some parts of the property have been renovated mostly just to make it livable in the twenty first century. But I can assure you that you won’t find a better deal on an incredible home like this.”

He turned back to the preppy real estate agent. She stood by the kitchen door, that same bright illuminated smile dazzling her features. Looking no older than thirty-five at best, dressed in her best pants suit, her golden locks pulled back into a tiny neat bun with not one hair out of place. She’d been like a ray of sunshine throughout the whole tour of the house and to Negan’s surprise it’d actually brightened up his morning. He returned her smile with his own as his slipped his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Sounds great doll…I’ll take it.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It hadn’t taken him long to move in his stuff, mostly because he didn’t own much.

Stepping through to the kitchen on bare feet, his stomach crying out for food, he took a chilled blood pack from the fridge emptying the contents into a pint glass, taking a few swigs before placing it to the side on the counter.

He was running out and soon he knew he’d have to hunt for something more...fresh.

He winced at the thought, Lucille had always told him that he didn’t have to kill to survive but he was the head of his Clan, the Alpha; he had to lead by example. Lucille had always been human and turning her had never been an opinion because he hadn’t wanted her to be dragged into his world; that was of course until she got sick and it had been his last hope in the desperation to save her.

The thing was however, when a new vampire is turning they must feed in the first twenty four hours and Lucille had refused. She’d argued that it was unjustified that to save her life, she would have to take another...and so Negan had laid with her, holding her close as she slowly faded away.

That’d had been ten years ago and it sting stung as fresh as it did the day he lost her. He was trying...it was hard and he still slipped from time to time but he was trying. Leaving his Clan had been in service of that, in an attempt to lessen the temptation. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a knock at the door, barely getting there in time before it was thrown open and slammed against the adjoining wall.

“Hey buddy! You know it has been hell trying to track your ass down!”

Negan rolled his chestnut eyes at the tall mustached man. Simon, his blood brother in every second of the term. They’d been turned at the same time over six hundred years ago, sticking side by side for centuries killing and slaughtering together. He had a sense that maybe Simon enjoyed the killing a little too much but he supposed he would have been a rather lousy vampire if he didn’t.

“Yeah, you know it’s almost like I didn’t wanna be found Si!”

“Bullshit! You need to come back! The Clan needs you, they falling over their own damn feet not knowing what to do with themselves.”

“Not my problem anymore.”

Negan didn’t even flinch as Simon slammed his first against the wall, rattling the framed pictures above.

“Don’t fucking give me that shit! This is your Clan we’re talking about, you’re seriously gonna let a goddamn human screw that up?! It’s been ten years Negan! Get. Over. It!”

With wind chilling speed, he flew at the mustached man; his large hands tightening around his neck. Teeth grinding as he spit venom.

“Watch your fucking mouth Simon, don’t forget who fucking killed you the first time!”

The man coughed out a wheezed breath, a drip of blood slipping from the corner of his mouth as it twisted to a wicked grin.

“See, this is who you are. Why pretend you’re something else when we both know this is what you do best?”

Negan’s snarl stiffened at Simon’s words, hand squeezing tighter around his neck before he growled in frustration throwing the dark haired vampire to the side before grabbing his boots and storming out the door.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After hours of wandering the streets, the primal instincts screaming through his system, the urge to kill rising with every passing human and the smell of their blood, the sound of it pumping through their veins to point it made Negan’s head spin.

He eventually ended up taking refuge in the town’s local bar; The Kingdom. Run by a man named Ezekiel; who rumor had it in the supernatural community was an ancient shapeshifter. Some claiming to have witnessed the man changing into anything from a fearless wolf to a snarling tiger. Whether the rumors were true however remained to be seen. Not that it bothered Negan, he had no qualms with the shapeshifters; provided they kept out of his way.

Taking another sip of his whisky, he savored the numbing effect it had. The overpowering smell of booze and cigarette smoke masking any scent of human aroma left lingering in his nostrils.

Keeping to himself for most of the night, drinking away the hours his attention was eventually drawn to the blonde sat at the opposite end of the bar. The real estate agent that sold him the house. Now dressed down in more casual wear of a low cut t-shirt; blue skinny jeans and boots. Her golden locks left untamed as they swayed loosely down her back and over her shoulders.

What was her name again? Blake something? It was definitely Blake, he’d never forget a gorgeous face like hers. There was something rather alluring about her; drawing him to her like a moth to a flame.

Even as he began making his way towards her; he knew it was a terrible idea. Then again most of the best experiences of his life had all started with bad ideas...

“Anything else Miss Blake?”

“Give the lady whatever she wants Ezekiel, it’s on me.”

Her green orbs met his as she turned on her bar stool, flashing him a smile. Clearly remembering him. 

“That’s very kind of you Negan, I’ll have another peach schnapps please...”

Negan wrinkled his nose at her order; a small smirk playing against his lips. While she simply shrugged, taking the glass from the bartender.

“Before you say anything, I know it’s a weak drink order but I prefer the fruity stuff... so sue me.”

“Hey you’ll get no judgment from me doll.”

The time passed faster than Negan would’ve liked it too, purely from the genuine enjoyment of being in this woman’s company, they talked about everything from jobs to family and everything in between. He’d even had it in him to crack a few terrible jokes just for the pleasure of hearing the blonde laugh.

He’d noticed two things about her in the few hours they’d gotten to know one another...

One; she played with her hair when she was nervous, pulling small strands of her gold mane around her fingers while spoke and he found it goddamn adorable.

And two; she was single. She didn’t wear any kind of ring wedding or engagement and in all the hours they’d spent talking, she never once mentioned she was involved with anyone.

When the time came for her to leave; he actually found himself feeling disappointed. But he’d kept his cool and bid her a goodnight before eventually calling it a night himself and heading outside for one last smoke before heading home.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stepping into the cold brisk air; he felt the chill dancing down his spin as he leaned against the wall pulling his cigarette packet out his jacket pocket, drawing a cigarette to his lips, lighting it and taking a deep lung full of smoke before letting it out. A few more drags here and there, breathing out the cloud of smoke away from his lips.

He was interrupted by the sound of smashing trash cans in the side alley near the bar. Causing Negan to roll his eyes at the disturbance. Damn drunks. He’d thought about avoiding the alley on his way home, having no interest in whatever the assholes had decided to start throwing punches over. Wasn’t his business and he didn’t care. However when the very familiar feminine muffled voice followed the scuffle was when he stood to attention.

“Please let me go!”

Oh he definitely knew that voice, not even hesitating as he threw his cigarette to the ground and ran to the alley’s entrance.

There she was, Blake. Her mascara running down her face, blood trickling down from her forehead. Struggling in the grip of a man with his arms wrapped around her waist, his head craning round to the exposed flesh on her neck.

Fucking Alexandrian’s. He’d thought the deal they’d had with Grime’s Clan was solid until the bastard had decided to rebel and now his guys were running hell all over town…some going rogue and taking any human that struck their fancy, most of the time killing and letting Negan’s Clan take the blame for it. And the sight of her in pain so afraid, made Negan’s whole body shake with anger.

Letting the primal instincts take the lead as his face snarled in pure rage, fangs drawing out ready for the taste of blood.

He was at Blake’s side in an instant. His strong hands taking firm grip of the attacker and vigorously dragging him away from the blonde. He didn’t have time to react as Negan fiercely took hold of his neck, jerking his head to the side so hard with a powerful twist until he felt his spine click in his palms. But the opposing vampire continued to fight back, his strength fading rapidly.

Negan extended his fangs; a wolf-like growl leaving his lips as he plunged his teeth into the man’s neck. Chewing and gnawing throwing his head back as he tore the man’s throat open. Vampire blood was known for being bitter; he’d probably need another bottle of whiskey just to get rid of the taste. He let the body slump to the ground as it landed with a sickening thud in a pool of its own blood. Spitting the remain stains of crimson that coated his tongue, he wiped the corners of his mouth on his jacket sleeve before turning back to Blake, his fang now retracting back into place.

It wasn’t a surprise when he found the blonde cowering in the corner of the alley. But needless to say it still hurt. Seeing the fear in her eyes now after spending most of the night staring into them. But it was to be expected.

Looking at himself now covered in blood, Blake inching further away from him…he realized there’d be no way she could ever see him as anything else other than a monster now. She was an innocent, pure and light as air.

She fought back tears, holding herself as her arms hugged her sides, her legs crossed underneath her. He tried to move closer to reassure her that he wasn’t a threat but she just flinched away again.

“Don’t! Don’t come any closer!...What....What the hell are you?!”

“I’m something you do not wanna get mixed up in, Peaches. Trust me.”

After all, what angel could ever fall for the Devil?

[nny11writes]

Let’s Try This Again- Chapter 6

<-Previous Anakin woke suddenly with a gasp, his legs spasming as he tried to right himself to reality. His face was throbbing with pain and his vision was filled with Obi-Wan’s concerned face. The Force was...well it was a mess. Shock, outrage, some fear, determination, delight, humor, tiredness, wariness, openness. All at once from everywhere! Oh, wait, no that was all of the Council Members. Wow weren’t they supposed to be good at shielding?

“Anakin, you need to let go now.” Obi-Wan roughly whispered to him, begging as their training bond thrummed slowly, purring gently against Anakin’s mind. “You need to return to yourself.”

How ridiculous! He was perfectly well himself. He was...gosh everything just hurt so much. The Force throbbed with his pain. Well, perhaps he wasn’t completely there yet. Anakin forced his way back, pushing and pulling and shredding away until he’d released his grasp on the Force. The room popped back into place, quite enough and solid enough for him to finally fully come too.

“Master, what happened?” His voice was raspy and even though he’d been awake for less than a few hours, Anakin was sure he could sleep for the next century at least.

Obi-Wan frowned before glancing up and Anakin tilted his head to follow his Master’s gaze.

Master Yoda sat on the floor, with Ahsoka curled up in an angry little ball half in his lap. Master Windu was kneeling next to them as still as a statue. Master Koon sat with his legs stretch out in front of him with one large hand rubbing Ahsoka’s back. Anakin tilted his head around. Masters Yaddle and Bilaba appeared to be in a quiet debate with Masters Mundi, Koth, and Piell.

“Curious. Very curious what I have seen.” Master Yoda spoke softly but the sound carried well enough. “Please, dismissed for now you all are. Masters Windu, Koon, Knight Kenobi, and Padawan Skywalker; a moment more of your time I require.”

Anakin was unaccountably grateful that everyone left slowly and quietly. It gave his head a chance to stop hurting so karking much. It gave him a chance to try and pull pieces fully together even if the ragged edges grated.

“Masters,” Anakin whispered, sitting up and toying with a glass of water he didn’t remember being given. That was probably a bad sign. “I believe I’ve had another vision. I had one in the alley where we found her, and I think I had another on the ship. Just now I, uhm, I think I saw more.”

“We all saw more Skywalker.” Mace spoke gravely. “The question now is more about how much  this foundling knows.”

Anakin looked at Master Yoda in confusion.

“Perhaps a better question is when is she from. Or where. Our galaxy or another?” Master Yoda left his hand still on Ahsoka’s head.

“Time travel and galaxy hopping.” Obi-Wan sighed heavily. “Yes, I suppose it has been rather quiet for us recently. Something was bound to crop up.”

Anakin snorted in amusement and tried to hide it as a sneeze. Judging from Master Koon’s amusement and Master Windu’s exasperation it hadn’t really worked.

“Obi no!” Ahsoka moaned, wiggling to roll over and glare at him. “It’s bad luck Obi.”

Anakin grinned and chanced a peek at his Master’s face as he responded. “She does seem to know you rather well Master.”

Obi-Wan shot him a dry look. “Yes, well, she must be positively loopy if she time traveled to be your Padawan...for a second time.”

“Perhaps we can attempt to focus gentlemen?” Master Windu cut in before they could really get wound up.

Anakin’s amusement swung directly into annoyance. “You’re right Master, we should focus on if Ahsoka is alright after such an experience.”

Obi-Wan’s rebuke in the bond barely made a difference to his feelings on the matter.

“ ��M Fine,” Ahsoka huffed in the way that always meant someone was anything but fine. She finally unraveled herself a little and immediately began picking at her tunic. “Ani...uhm…”

There was a long pause while she obviously tried to pull her thoughts together. The bond flared to life between them, and he could feel the way she seemed to draw something from him. It didn’t hurt and he didn’t feel less for it.

Ahsoka took a deep breath before starting again, speaking slowly and obviously working at each full sentence. “Anakin is, was, not bad. He needs...help. And others too. So I’m here. To help. Think ’m suppose to... Uhm, what year’s it?”

Mace nodded, “PRR 983.”

Ahsoka seemed to take a moment to count, squinting with concentration as she tapped her fingers on her stomach. “Thirty.”

A pin could have dropped.

“Are you saying you are from thirty years in our future?” Mace asked, his face completely blank.

“Yes.” Ahsoka’s face scrunched again as she kicked her stubby legs. “Don’t like being short.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was filled with a sort of glee that Anakin usually associated with spending far too much time in the archives or the labs. The kind that promised wild adventures and massive headaches. “Well that would explain why you were so reluctant to let us get a full work up done at the med center. Perhaps you’d be more willing to submit to a few scans now?”

Ahsoka puffed up and groaned. “Don’t wanna! Hurt!”

Obi-Wan absently patted Anakin’s shoulder as if that would transfer to the girl across the room. “I promise you it won’t hurt a bit, Anakin can sit with you if you’d like.”

“Excuse me Masters...but, Ahsoka, what do you mean you want to help me?” Anakin asked. The Force still hummed through him, the question out before he could truly think of it.

There was a wibble and then another soft tugging sensation. Then, something went wrong the tug becoming a forceful yank. He could feel Ahsoka scrambling, trying to pull him back but it was- it was as if Anakin had grown six feet, ten feet, twenty feet tall-the room was distant and small and-

Stars he hurt. Everything hurt from the fall. He twisted his head back up to the top of the Sith Temple and gritted his teeth. There was a child and an injured man up there. This was his fault, his fight. How dare that-that abomination toss him off the battlefield as if Anakin was a speck. As if he was truly nothing. His Master wouldn’t have-but his Master was gone wasn’t he.

Wasn’t he?

One foot after the other, Anakin forced himself up. Forcing his legs to carry him up to face Vader. Vader had truly killed Anakin, and he would avenge his Master. It was the least that he owed him.

The least.

Because Anakin was gone...he had to be.

Vader stood, arm outstretched towards Ezra, pulling for the holocron to gain control of the weapon. Anakin snarled and began to run, igniting both his blades. As he lept, Vader turned, desperate to block his twin white blades. He almost didn’t need to, Anakin pulled his hit and was shoved through the Force. His ribs ached in protest as he once more struggled to get on his feet. Oh something was definitely broken.

“Ahsoka,” the deep mechanical mask wheezed.

“Ahsoka,” the distorted voice called.

“Ahsoka,” Anakin pleaded.

Anakin stared, his heart shattering and reforming. His Master lived. His Master was still there inside of the Sith. There was still good in him. He could feel it, that little speck of fire.

“Anakin...I won’t leave you. Not this time!” The Force sang with the truth of his words.

Anakin was torn, torn and hurting, and Vader looked back up at him. “Then you will die.”

The Force rang with the truth of his words-

Anakin woke cradled in his Master’s arms. Tears rolling down his face and mind floundering to make sense of what Ahsoka had just shown them. He wasn’t a Sith! He wasn’t! He wasn’t! He never, he would never! Obi-Wan pressed their foreheads together, one hand clenched in Anakin’s hair. “Breath Padawan. Breath.”

He was a monster! The Council had been right about him all along, he was dangerous and a monster. Vader.

Obi-Wan pressed more firmly, his breath washing over Anakin’s face and his hair blocking Anakin’s view of the chamber. “Anakin, please, breath. You are not dangerous! Listen to me and breath.”

Anakin gasped for air, feeling light headed.

“You are Anakin Skywalker. My apprentice and my friend. You are a good person Anakin. You are filled with compassion and love. You are inspiring.”

Anakin tried to listen, he did, but he could remember the way that Vader had felt in the Force. An oily fire, an explosion, a crushing weight. His brain helpfully suggested that  this was, perhaps, a really good reason for someone to travel back in time. Slowly, very slowly with Obi-Wan’s help, Anakin regained control. The pit of helpless despair and fear never lessened but he had once lived with that everyday as a slave. He would do so again. He would have to. He would learn to.

Anakin gently pulled back, not wanting to let go of Obi-Wan for a second but knowing his fate was sealed. He forced himself to look over to Master Windu only to find the man already next to him. Anakin flinched.

Mace Windu looked at him, one hand settling softly on his shoulder. His face full of concern and his presence in the Force soft. “Anakin, are you alright?”

He half nodded and half shrugged.

Master Windu squeezed his shoulder gently. “Alright then, I want you to pay very close attention to me Padawan. What we have all just seen, this information is going to stay between us. No one else, not even the rest of the Council will be fully briefed on this potential future. Do you understand?”

Anakin worked to hold back his sniffling even as a few tears escaped. “No sir. I mean, yes sir but why?”

Master Windu smiled at him, small but genuine and sure. “The future is always in motion and darkness can be overcome. We will work together to make sure of it.”

Anakin didn’t miss the way Obi-Wan was sending amusement over their bond, likely feeling the pure shock Anakin was sure was radiating off of him. Another nudge got his mouth working again. “Yes s-Master, thank you.”

Anakin looked briefly to the floor and blanched at the shiny black tiles, that terrible shining mask burned into his mind. He quickly averted his gaze to look at Ahsoka again. For her part, Ahsoka seemed none the worse for wear. As if sharing terrible events and future’s past was a regular day for her. Considering that she had apparently survived being thrown off a building before beating back a full Sith Lord, and then time traveling thirty years...perhaps to her it was.

The adrenaline in him seemed to bleed a little off from his fears into excitement. He had a really cool Padawan, and she came back for him. She came backwards in TIME. Wizard!

Obi-Wan sighed as they both watched Ahsoka climb fully onto Master Koon’s lap, before she tried to bury herself in between his tunic layers. His Master’s voice was soft, pitched only for him. “I believe you left quite the impression.”

Anakin’s heart thumped painfully against his chest. Feeling simply exhausted he slumped backwards against his Master’s chest. “I suppose so.”

Then he went out like a light.

~~~~~~

And that’s all she wrote...so far, I wasn’t lying when I said this was a WiP lol! Not sure when I’ll actually shore everything up for another chapter but I am trying to work on it while my interest in it is still high. Feel free to check this out on AO3 if you’d like an easier place for notifications on this. :)

[pandabearlikes]

No News

Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5

Chapter o1. Absentia

They shake their heads, lips flatten, and voice crippled within their esophagus, unable to repeat the same words of torment.  No news.

It’s been…

one…

two…

thirty…

ninety…

two-hundred fifteen…

five hundred and nineteen days since his disappearance, since I’ve had to exit the military base with the same conclusion.  Brief moments, soft whispers, discussions of sympathy ensue by people in the background, who wished to help but could only deliver the statement, “no news.”

They see my small smile and the soldiers' eyes gloss over.  Another bows his head low, the third pats me on my calm shoulders.  Again, the corner of my lips push upward and I graciously bow.  What they don’t know is that…to me…no news now meant, “good" news.  It meant, I could still continue on with this hope that perhaps tomorrow’s answer may be different.

“Maybe it’s time to let go…” they suggest as they catch me staring absent-mindedly out the window as if waiting for someone to appear at the street corner and race down the yellow brick road up to our house…he’d smile that precious grin of his…his deep dimple brightening up my day like the star in the night sky…

I keep quiet.  My thumb swirls around in circular patterns along the ornate frame that encased the photo of my love.

“YiXing wouldn’t want you to hurt like this for him…” my lover’s comrade, Park Chanyeol, pats the back of my hands.  His remark summons the first quiet tear.  The solo droplet disturbs the tranquility of YiXing’s grin on the invaluable photo.  His friend squeezes my hand and continues.  I know my breakdown is not what he wills, but it is also what he wills…to tear down the last bits of hope that kept my facade in place.  “With all the evidence they found…and all the blood at the base that they tested and confirmed belonged to YiXing, you can file for a declaration of death in absentia…”

Why would I want to do that?

My nails dig into his palm.  Chanyeol clenches his jaw, hiding back any reaction as he watches his words seep into the crevices of my heart.

“…that way…you can move on…”

It’s as if time stopped…as neither of us breathe…and I think to myself…wouldn’t this be better.  Better…in that to me anything was better than accepting that I’d never get to see YiXing ever again - never get to hear that angelic voice of his that used to lull an insomniac, like me, to sleep in the matter of seconds.  Never be able to snuggle into his warm chest…never able to kiss those sweet lips…

I’d rather never breathe ever again…

Before I know it, rivers of tears stream down my cheeks - the bridge of my nose washes over in plum.  By now, my nails have penetrated through Chanyeol’s skin.  I choke back tears, ignoring his unwavering stare in my direction.  

“…Ho-how…can you say that?” I squeeze out.  

A tear seeps out of Chanyeol’s eyes, so foreign and uncharacteristic of a soldier who survived an explosion, had to have layers and layers of painful skin grafting, but did not shed a single tear.  

His lack of response kindled my inner torment.  I whip my head around and throw him a glare.  A mere housewife challenging a brave warrior; I must be stupid.  I must be foolish.

“He’s gone…” he whispers.

Instantly, I turn around, rejecting his criminal words, that condemned me to the tormented life of a widow.  I hug the picture frame close against my chest and try my best to block out Chanyeol’s presence but the stubborn man holds me by each side of my arm and forces me to turn to him.

“Wake up!  He’s gone.  YiXing is dea-“

A hard slap crashes across his handsome face - a punishment I know a kind-hearted and caring man like him did not deserve.  But he is a warrior, who stood up bravely in the front lines of destruction and I am a coward that runs away from reality.

“He is not!” I spat back.

“HE IS! You know it! I know it! Everyone knows it.  There was no way he would have survived the explosi—“

Another slap.  The throbbing pain aches his heart more than the permanent scars that covered his muscular body.  But he stares at me, undefeated, with those intense eyes of his as if waiting for me to crumble.  

“He is GONE!”

Slap.  My palms pulsate in burning sensations that shook my entire body.  The water flooding my cheeks opposes to the fire like two rivaled elements.

“He-“

Slap.

“H-“

Slap.

Those eyes, born to spread happiness and delight, fire and courage, overflow with rain - yet, they continue to drill into mine.  

“He’s gone…” Chanyeol whispers, so faintly that for a moment, I think it’s my own imagination.  I lift up my hand to land another blow but these shaken cells of mine have long lost all energy.  Before the first wail breathes its first ounce of oxygen, I find myself crushed against Chanyeol’s chest.  His large palm cradles the back of my head as I struggle to free myself out of his…his…unconditional love…that suffocated me.  But at the same time, my self destruction, suffocates my male companion.  I punch and kick him, desperately trying to release his inner turmoil.

“You are his best friend!  How could you let him die?!” I wheeze, striking Chanyeol right in the center of his heart.  His face falls as he stuffs me back into his protection, hooking his chin atop my head.  “How could let him die?!  You promised me before the two of you left for duty that you’d bring him back safe and sound…” I wheeze, cowardly directing the blame onto the one person who should not receive it.  The next statement I make is one that I’ll come to regret for the rest of my life.  “It should have been you,” I say without emotions.  Chanyeol’s coaxing strokes halt.  He freezes there as if allowing my harsh words to replay in his mind over and over again.  As if it weren’t enough, I lift my head out of his arms, narrow my eyes up to his, and make clear, “You should have die—“

His lips presses against mine.  He’s not sure why…that is the solution he came up with…so he would not have to hear the completion of such a tolling remark.  So as to relieve me of such a sin…or perhaps, it is the one selfish thing he has wanted to do for years but never had the courage to do. How foolish did that sound…?  A soldier, who did not fear being set on scorching fire, lacked the boldness to pursue the woman he loved…

I stay there, paralyzed by Chanyeol’s actions…remaining quiet as his tears collect onto my cheeks, stream down my neck, following the path to my heart.  It is the first moment where I finally settle to the dwelling reality…the first moment I finally wake up from my unstable emotions and begin to process the recent sequence of events between Chanyeol and me.  My glassy orbs dart right to left, trying to read the man’s thoughts to no avail as his usually telling eyes were snapped shut.  His wet lashes protect him from this painful reality - the truth that he broke his promise to the girl he loved, the truth that his comrade and best friend died, the truth that he had uneasily stayed alive after rounds of medical resurrection, just for me to tell him he should have died.  

A tear rolls down the corner of my eye.  Silently, I stay still and wait for Chanyeol to make the next move but he too, opts to lengthen this prized moment.  His lips are cool against mine.  I allow scenes from our childhood to replay in my perplexed mind.  He lets my lasting words sink deep into his wounds.  It’s not like I did not know of Chanyeol’s affections, it’s that I made the conscious decision to act ignorant all these years as to keep both YiXing and him by my side.  It’s not that Chanyeol didn’t know my words were only misdirected sorrow, it’s that he made the conscious recognition that no matter what he did, he could not replace the spot in my heart, once held by YiXing.

Slowly, Chanyeol parts his lips from mine, releasing me of his hold.  As he walks away, the salty taste of his parting tear lingers on my tastebud.  

Chanyeol…My lips part to say, but don’t make a sound as I watch him exit the door.

`

A month later, I hear of the news during a regular visit to the military base, that Chanyeol had signed up to go back on duty, despite his yet fully healed injuries.  In fact, with the extent of his battle wounds, he had been pardoned from needing to ever serve again.  

“Where is he?” I bunch the hem of my blouse into my right fist and ask.

They direct me to wait in his room, stating that he’d be back from training in half an hour.  For the first time, I get a glimpse of what life YiXing and Chanyeol lived as soldiers fighting for the country.  Simple blankets, cot beds, pillows solid enough to cause me days of neck ache.  The colors of olive green and ivory builds a world of utter stillness…all but one small pastel pink frame hidden under his pillow.  I flip it over against my palm.  Brows waver at the recognition of my own photo.  A note beside it reads, “For her smile…”  My lower lip ripples.

Just then, two men’s voices echo down the hall.  Within seconds, the door swings open.  Both soldiers freeze to my presence.  A brief twinkle sparks in Chanyeol’s eyes before he forces himself to suppress it.

“Chanyeol-ah…” I whisper, breaking the silence.  

“Ahh, I see you have a guest, Chanyeol.  I’ll go next door and borrow their floor tonight!  You enjoy!” the shorter soldier tries to break the heavy tension with his humor.

Instead of breaking into laughter, my vision runs down Chanyeol’s bare upper body, that covered in countless scars and burns.  I suppress my urge to break down while the soldier hastily rummages the shelves for a clean uniform.  Quietly, I wait for Chanyeol to finish getting dressed.  He takes the empty spot, beside me, on his cot.  A wave of silence engulfs us as neither of us wish to disturb this moment of calm.  In those brief moments, for the first time, I give this man my undivided attention.  My eyes marvel at his gorgeous side profile, his cute elf ears, down his arms, his large hands there were made to carry large machineries, and long legs that he had to place hip width apart so his knees wouldn’t collide with a mini table beside the bed.  Compared to my petite, dangling legs, his seems to belong to a giant.  

“Chanyeol-ah…” I break the silence for the second time and turn to him to say.

“Mmhm…” he nods but forces himself to not turn to me.

“…I heard you signed up to go back to the front lines…” I start, almost fearfully.

“Mm…” he nods and tilts his head up for a brief moment, hoping I don’t catch the glossiness of his eyes.

My own begin to sting.  “…but your injuries aren’t fully healed yet…” I vocalize the first excuse.  Little did I know, to him, the deepest injury within in heart, could never be fully healed.  Subconsciously, my fingertips run up a deep scar along his left lower arm.  When Chanyeol fails to come up with a plausible response, I add in, “Even if you want to rejoin, is there really such a rush?”

My concern summons a half-tremble on the beautiful man’s lower lip, in which he immediately turns away to pacify himself.  His train of sight lands on the pink picture frame.

Swallowing the lump on his throat, he nods, “Mmhm…”

Unknown to me, my hold around his arm tightens.  I too bite back the urge to cry.  

“Whe…when are you heading off?” I furrow my brows.  

“Tomorrow,” Chanyeol honestly notes to which I fail to hide my worry.  Both of my hands wrap around his arm as my brain cripples with fear of not only having lost YiXing, but may also lose Chanyeol.

Liquid wells within my orbs as I inquire, “Do you have to go?”

If only I knew…that this time, his mission was not to protect the country’s people…but a personal resolve to protect my happiness…to bring back YiXing…or die doing so...I would have…I would have...

“Mmhm…” Chanyeol now has his chin permanently tilted up to suppress his emotions to the lingering thought that perhaps, this is our final meeting.

Can you not go?

My heart swells with agony and my breathing starts to cease.  It’s the familiar feeling I often encountered sending YiXing off…but for some reason, this time, perhaps already with the death of YiXing still fresh, the possibility of losing Chanyeol felt so raw and real.  With YiXing, I learned that the biggest support to a soldier was to let him go and fight the battle he needed to fight.  Any clinging would only cause him or her to carry a burden to the front lines.  But today, beside Chanyeol, the man who loved me most in this lifetime, I couldn’t help myself but cling on. Naturally, I hug onto his left arm and maneuver my head to rest against his shoulder.  The rare intimacy pulls on the man’s heartstrings; he snaps his eyes shut as if by doing so he could snap himself from this moment he wanted to prolong for the rest of his life.  

“I’ll…wait for you.  So promise me, you will come back to me, safe and sound,” I try with all my might to say calmly but half-choke.  

A stream trailing down Chanyeol’s cheek sparkles under the moonlight.

“If…” my voice quivers, “…If you don’t come back—“

For the second time, Chanyeol cuts me off with a kiss.  Only, this time, instead of the soft and reserve peck, this kiss is hast and fervent.  The familiar salty taste slips onto my tongue.  Throwing my arms around his neck, I kiss him back, for the first time, returning his feelings with the same amount of passion.  His lips are warm, his breathing, labor and hot against my cupid’s bow.  As he peers into my eyes, I suddenly feel the urge to get on my knees and beg him not to go.  They say, a female’s intuition is enough proof.  But Chanyeol buries my thoughts with another kiss.  Our hands roam - mine follow the endless trails and bumps along his skin - his mold around the feminine curvatures of my body.  For a brief moment, he stops to gaze into my eyes.  I nod in consent.

Our lips reunite as he lowers me onto the bed.  Fingers slips through fingers.  His larger physique hovers over me like a shield.  I tug him to lower him and close the distance.  He is so warm and lovely, I press him against me, hoping, wishing, praying for this moment to last forever.  For, neither of us know how long I must wait for him to return home but in this single moment, with him so close, he was safe and sound.

I graze his soft lips with an amble amount of sweet kisses as I rid him of his army uniform.  In turn, Chanyeol trails his lips down my jaw, neck, shoulders, and collarbone, discarding anything blocking us from this raw exchange of affections.  

He is strong but not forceful, though an ounce of desperation is evident in each movement.  Sweat mixes with tears, the condensation cools our fire.  Each pulsation becomes a source of healing for the both of us.  I become married to the idea that life with Chanyeol would be the new beginning I had been waiting for, for so long…he was the courage I needed to face the painful occurrences of reality.  

I let out a soft giggle in the middle of our lovemaking that, in turn, cracks a wide grin along my lover’s lips.  We pause for a moment to stare into each other’s eyes, where words needn’t be spoken out loud.  Or at least, I willed my indescribable appreciation for his love and protection to be transferred to his heart.  

“I’ve remembered where each and every scar is, on your body…when you come back, there can only be less, not more,” I plead him to promise as I press a palm against the center of his chest.  

A sad smile appears on his handsome face as he calms my anxiety down with a short nod, strokes my cheek with the back of his hand, and lowers his head to join our lips again.

A/N: Hello :)  How has everyone been? I hope well, I just finished editing this story and thought to post it to liven your spirits on hump day.  

In the process of editing a looong Sehun Historical Series that I finished during the summer ^-^ Stay tuned!

>>Story Master Archive<<

[writerly-owl-blog]

Undead: Chapter One

Summary: It’s been a year since the unexplained rising of the dead and mass infection of the millions, but Lance is managing to survive. He even thinks he’s doing pretty damn well, as fighting for your life goes, until he meets Keith - the boy with the sword and quiet words and constant plan. Mix in Hunk and Pidge, and they’ve got a solid team of four and a solid method of survival, but when they stumble into a hostage, an experimental, mad genius, and the odd truth, keeping some semblance of a nice, unconfrontational life may not be as easy as they had originally thought.

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

On AO3

CHAPTER ONE

Lance had gotten so used to the groans and moans of the undead that an actual, real life scream startles him more than anything.

He jumps in place a bit, broken glass crunching beneath his worn-out boots, and gingerly steps to the side to avoid getting properly speared via the wide gap in his shoe that spans from his callused toes to the middle of his foot. He isn’t having a repeat of the car window incident the other day, that’s for sure. He refuses.

“Oh, god,” Lance mutters with his mouth full, his eyes rolling of their own accord. His hand clenches into a fist at his side, the muffin wrapper noisily crumpling between his fingers.

Of course, a cry for help had to come around when he had a blueberry muffin half-stuffed into his mouth for the first time in what seems like years. His eyes close, his throat humming an old tune that he can’t quite remember the origin of,  his tongue swirling around the bits of gloriously sugary yet admittedly stale muffin. Lance isn’t complaining about it, though. Not at all. Honestly, he’s had much worse, like the raw fish he’d somehow managed to catch a few weeks ago, his feet plunged into the muddy water, his hands attempting to grasp it by the tail or the middle. The fish was like a bar of soap in the way it struggled to escape from his damp fingers - a bar of soap that bites, leaving him a nice scab for his troubles.

So, given the risk of eating raw local wildlife in a land filled with the diseased undead, he’d been thrilled to see a prize for his troubles few days later while walking down the interstate with the sun beating on his back - a perfectly wrapped, dainty granola bar, sitting there in its tantalizing way on a piping-hot leather seat in the back of a car. Nice and shiny, its silver wrapping fiercely reflecting the sun. Undisturbed. Perfect.

Yes, the glass of the car window had stuck into Lance’s elbow - he couldn’t find anything else better to ram the window with. Yes, he’d spent a good thirty minutes afterwards picking it out by the car after he’d claimed his meal, hissing curses underneath his breath. And yes, once he’d stepped forward, patting himself on the back for a job well done, he’d stepped on a particularly nasty shard that found itself lodged in his foot.

No, he was not happy about it. So really, all fish and granola bars considered, the muffin was a steal.

“Hold on, m’comin,” he mutters to himself after he stuffs the rest of the pastry into his mouth, his hand reaching for the old-fashioned pistol that he’d swiped from a raid on what seemed to be an old woman’s house, judging from the doilies and the dolls. She’d had plenty of ammo, too, which made Lance question her hobbies, but whatever hobbies they were, he hopes she’s having a grand old time doing them in the afterlife. Or wherever she is.

Whatever. He doesn’t care. But he does care about the yell that rings out again, right from beside the gas station in a separate building that houses an old run-down car wash.

“I’m coming! Jeez, stop yelling!” he says again, louder this time. Lance quickly checks the ammo  - five more rounds, wonderful - and he has to ram his shoulder into the rusted-out door in desperate need of WD-40 to burst it open, curving a hard left toward the Soap n’ Suds.

He vaguely remembers Soap n’ Suds from when he was very small, just a tot in a car seat, and and absolutely, mortifyingly terrified of car washes. Nothing struck fear into the heart of young Lance like the smiling red cartoon car looming outside of his window, telling of the horrors of strange tornado-like wipers that were looming just around the corner.

Nothing strikes fear into Lance’s heart like the rotting stench of walking corpses, either, which blasts into him like an unwelcome sauna of smell the moment he enters the car wash through the back end instead of the front. Call him a rebel. Bad to the bone.

Also call him a scared soul that screeches as a teen his age just about backs into him, his muscles straining as he hefts up an old-fashioned, rusting sword and swipes it toward one of the many zombies that stutter toward him on uncertain feet. One of them is nothing but half of a formerly full person, both of its eyes completely missing, but thankfully nowhere around, dragging itself forward by its surprisingly muscular arms, scrabbling at the boy’s ankles. The boy grunts, delivering a swift kick to the zombie’s head, but another zombie has just about caught up to him, its hand scattered with bloody hangnails, open flaps of flesh that ooze out purple and yellow and all the colors Lance would rather a wound not be, frankly.

“Get it!” Lance screeches, taking deep breaths to calm himself into the Sharpshooting Zone - a certain state of mind that he indulges himself in, whenever the situation calls for it.

Step back. Take a breath. Aim for the head. Shoot.

His finger slams against the trigger without a second thought.

His bullet smashes into the crawling zombie’s brain while the other teen sticks his sword clean through the neck of the other, grimacing as it crashes to its knees, gore and gut spilling from the cut. He plants a foot on its chest for leverage and yanks the blade out, looking toward Lance with wide eyes, and in that moment, Lance can only think one thing, zombies be damned.

“Is that a mullet?” he asks in bewilderment, pointing toward the other’s hair that curls ever so slightly at the nape of his neck. The other frowns, his self-consciously hand raising to his hair, but his eyes widen as Lance abruptly swings the front of his pistol toward his head, eyes narrowing, breath bated.

“Don’t move,” Lance mutters, gritting his teeth. The other freezes. Lifts his hands in surrender.

The pistol goes off, steadied by Lance’s hand, and something whizzes past the other’s ear, sharp as a whistle. A groan scooped from the pits of something’s belly wheezes into the air. Slick, hot blood pools against the back of his legs, spreads on the ground like a messy art project, minus the glitter. Glitter would be nice. Maybe a bit morbid, given the circumstances, but nice.

The other boy quickly takes a few steps forward, twisting around to glance at the fallen zombie for a moment or two, before locking eyes with Lance.

And oh. Lance has never seen eyes like that.

Or a mullet like that.

“Seriously, man, a mullet?” Lance says again, clicking the safety on his pistol, pressing a hand to his belly as he begins to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

“Hey!” the other groans at him, chin tilted up. “I love my mullet.”

“Good. At least someone does.” Lance cracks up at his own joke, flashing a smile at the pinched look on the other’s face. “You deserve to be teased after ruining my  muffin moment.”

“Your…” The other trails off, eyebrows knitted together.

“My muffin moment. Yes. It’s hard to find food, y’know,” Lance says defensively, shoving the pistol into his oversized pocket attached to his oversized pants that barely hang on to his hips, their saving grace an old brown belt. “If you’re looking for some, it’s in that gas station over there.”

“Oh. Thanks.” The other pauses for a moment, pursing his lips, before his eyes flick back up toward Lance’s. “What’s your name?”

“Lance. Otherwise known as the man who just saved your life. You?”

“I’m sure I would’ve been just fine. And it’s Keith.”

“Nice.”

And the two stand in silence.

“Sooooo. Where’re you headed?” Lance awkwardly asks, shuffling a foot into the concrete.

“I…have no idea.”

“Cool. Same.”

More silence. Then -

“Safety in numbers.” It’s Keith, his eyes locked on Lance’s again. Purple? Blue? Lance doesn’t know, but he tries to search out every individual fleck of color, out of sheer curiosity, of course. Not because they’re pretty. Of course not. That would be ridiculous.

“Yeah. You wanna come with?” He pointed his thumb proudly to his chest, flashing a cheesy smile. “I’m the best sharpshooter on this side of the country!”

“Yeah, I saw,” Keith says, whirling his sword in his hands. “And I stab.”

“A sharpshooter and a stabber. What else does one need?” Lance jokes, beginning to stroll out of the small stall of rubber tornadoes and endless smiling car doodles. He doesn’t ask about the sword. He’s seen weirder weapons in this new world.

“That’s a good question,” Keith dryly notes, beginning to follow, and there’s no trace of a smile on his face. In fact, Keith hasn’t laughed at any of Lance’s jokes. Not a one.

Challenge accepted.

_______

One of the first thing Lance notes about Keith is that he isn’t a talker. Notably so.

This first occurs to him in the first few hours that they’re walking on the road, the dry, hot sun sending sweat pouring down their necks, pooling in the collars of their shirts, but besides the obvious, imminent heat stroke approaching, Keith still can’t seem to take that damn red jacket off.

“Aren’t you hot?” Lance pipes up a few miles down the road, his hand carefully rested on his pistol. Keith’s eyes flicker to his as if alarmed, or waking from a particularly intense dream. Or both.

“Uh. No.”

“Oh…well.” Lance chokes on his words, pulling down on the sleeves of his old green jacket that’s tied around his waist, marked with bold yellow rectangles on the side. He remembers when it wasn’t so tattered and faded, particularly in the house - draped over the wooden dinner table, hung up in him and his brother’s walk-in closet, in the corner of his eye during the occasional scuffles they’d get into over who was to wear it that day, or that week. It was rarely washed, always crusted over with the  remains of beans they’d had for dinner, or a spot of sticky Coca-Cola, but when it was washed once in a blue moon it was as soft as a piece of prized felt, smelling of the old familiar detergent his family used. It was always the same brand, for as long as he can remember - it smelled of lilac and lavender, like clean, space-themed sheets and the hoodies he’d used to wear all the time.

He doubted he’d ever smell that ever again, given what’s happened. If they ever  were blessed by the miracle of stumbling by a grocery store, he’d probably scan the cleaning aisles, searching for it. Just for a whiff of home.

Home. Safety. The opposite feeling that flashes through Keith’s eyes as they  zero in on his arm, carefully scan over his trigger-happy fingers.

“Not for you, buddy. I thought I’d proved that earlier,” he says, pursing his lips.

“Yeah. It’s just. You can never be-”

“Too careful, yeah.” His sister had always said that. Her and her smart mouth, and her tough attitude that knew just when to be soft on him. Her and her sisterly advice to her clumsy, rambunctious younger brother.

Lance sniffs.

Keith whips his head toward him, an odd look plastered on his face, as if he were about to perform open-heart surgery on someone without even knowing how to  do chest compressions.

The old Lance would joke. Flash him a set of finger guns, say some joke to throw the whole situation on its head, blowing the other person’s mind - obviously. When did he not blow anybody’s mind? Never, that’s when.

So the old Lance is still there. Obviously. Just dormant. Hiding, ever since his mother was the first to go. Afraid to let go, drown into itself, lose all the seriousness needed to survive.

But damn, if it didn’t burst out sometimes. Just…not now.

_____

During dinner, or during the meal in which what meager food they’ve both stacked up and traded is choked down as soon as humanly possible, Lance actually decides to try.

He had to admit that he was liking the current fire they had going - the land had a habit of turning from a summer-in-California kind of temperature to one of an indoor penguin exhibit the moment the sun dipped below the horizon, the kind that caused Lance to shrug his green jacket back on and lean towards the pocket of warmth, the leaping licks of orange and yellow. The two are closely surrounded by leafy greens in the untamed bits of vegetation on the side of the two-lane highway, just off the road sign that warns of deer and car crashes and things nobody has to worry about anymore.

“So you know how to make a fire, woodsy guy,” Lance says as they plop down on the ground, tearing into his beef jerky like a wild beast. He grimaces as soon as the unfortunate taste hits his tongue. Pepper jerky. He’d never been a fan of it, sure, but he’d be a fan of Spam itself if it meant he didn’t have to starve. “What were you, a boy scout?”

Keith doesn’t answer for a moment, and Lance thinks he’s not going to respond at all, before he does. “Nah. I used to live in the woods,” Keith muses, slipping those poor excuses for gloves off of his fingers, letting the flames flicker closer to his fingers than probably advised by Smoky the Bear. “I made a lot of them. It always came naturally.”

“You lived in the woods? Like, in a tent?” Lance hates camping. Poison ivy. Mosquitos. Which is a lot like the position he’s in, right this second.

Probably not a good time to mention that. Or think too hard about it.

“No, I lived in a cabin.”

“With your family?”

“Nope. Just me.” He says it so simply, without much emotion, and Lance can’t quite pick up on how he feels about that. Just a vagabond teen, living in the woods. No big deal.

Lance can’t imagine life without his family.

Well. Actually, he can, now.

“Oh. Did you like it?” Lance hesitantly asks, sipping loudly on one of the multiple water bottles that he has stuffed in his industrial-grade, probably atomic-bomb-proof backpack that he’s had since the 8th grade. He imagines himself like a Lance-shaped camel, hoarding his goods in the bag hump for a later day. Or a camel-shaped Lance? Either way, Keith speaks before he can delve into that particular topic.

“Sometimes.”

And that’s all Keith has to say about that.

The silence means that Lance can hear the fire peacefully crackling, a low, comforting noise that reminds him of home almost as much as lavender and lilac, taking him back to the fire pit they’d built in the back yard when he was six and had a hankering for some s’mores, a trait that never really left him. But it also means that he can hear the eerie whistling of the wind rusting through the trees as if disturbing them on purpose, cruelly tearing its leaves off and slamming them into the ground. One of them, an enormous, broad oak leaf, slaps Lance square in the forehead, pasting itself firmly to his face thanks to the wind, and Lance lets out an almost feral growl as he scrabbles at its edges, flinging it into the fire.

“Stupid leaf,” he mutters, scrubbing his hands all over his face to rid it of its itching, and Keith’s head is bowed, his bangs flopping over his forehead in an oily mess.

It takes Lance far too long to recognize the solitary shake of his shoulders, the crest of a grin glinting on his face for a blessed moment, before it disappears.

“Are you laughing at me?” Lance squawks, winding his arms together in a tight knot. “I’ll have you know, that leaf was brutal! I could have died!”

Of all the things that made Keith laugh, it had to be a leaf attacking Lance’s face. If that momentary scoff could be counted as a laugh, that is.

When Keith looks up, however, his expression is much more sober, his eyes glinting with something drained of all amusement and filled with wary, careful flickers of…something. Fear? Apprehension? Confusion?

“I wonder where they are,” he quietly says, his voice carrying along with the wind, but Lance manages to hear it.

“Who?”

“I mean, we haven’t seen many today. I wonder if they’re hiding.”

Oh. Them.

“Or maybe there aren’t many in this area. We’re kind of in the middle of nowhere, here,” Lance counters.

“It’s still not…right.” Keith’s face is pinched, even more than the regular, run of the mill Keith-pinch that Lance has begun to recognize in such a short time. His hands fiddle in his lap, turning something over, and over, and over, and Lance would ask, pry into it, if he wasn’t hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion. His little-sleep high had just crashed. Shit.

“Hey, I’m gonna get some sleep. Wake me up when it’s time for me to be sentry,” Lance murmurs, wincing as he shoves his backpack off his back and huddles onto it like a pillow. Only the pillow is filled with the uncomfortable edges and bumps of plastic water bottles.

Water bed. It’s a water bed. Sure.

And despite the screeching of the wind grating against his eardrums, and Keith’s constant poking at the fire, leaving the logs of wood rolling over each other, he somehow finds solitude, pulled down into an uneasy yet dreamless sleep.