#to squeeze water from the air with nothing but a plastic tarp a bottle and some patience

[shouyuus]

figure eights has CHANGED me on another level that doesn’t even exist yet and i’ll forever be crying for joy about it. rain, thank you for writing one of the most thoughtful and intentional love stories in existence because ohmygod, it’s not even fully out yet and it’s gotta be my favorite. your talent AMAZES me so much and it should be celebrated !!!!!!

you quite literally deserve all the love.

♡ ♡ ♡

omg rAYYYYYY thank you so much slkdfjd i cannot actually begin to tell u how amazing it's been discovering (????) you as a friend ??? like WOW having someone who gets my insane vi-obsession but is also thoughtful and kind and will YELL with me about other shit ?? INSANE TBH.

sometimes soulmates aren't just meant for lovers <3

and bc everything good's probably already been said by someone else, and said better, i'll just leave a few lines from one of my favorite poems here:

they could tell you how rare this is but they could tell you how rare friendship always is the chances are slim the cards are always stacked against you, the odds are always low ... friend, i want to be the mirror that reminds you to love yourself - an origin story, by sarah kay and phil kaye

[inheritorofmemories-archive]

This is my gift for @lilolilyr for the Andromaquynh Secret Santa. You asked for a hurt/comfort fic, and I delivered. Hope you enjoy it, and happy holidays! Ich hoffe, dieses Geschenk findet dich gesund und glücklich <3

I’m putting it under a cut for length purpose and here is the link to the fic on AO3.

~

Lost and found again out there among the paths

The stars are bright, cold and unreachable, hung high in the firmament.

They haven’t changed in all of her centuries gone. The names are different but the same figures look down on her, the gaze of the Ursa and the Swan’s tail, the Crane hidden under the horizon in these parts of the world.

She isn’t ready to see her homelands yet, but this is enough. This is good. The Steppe hasn’t changed either, the same grass covering the earth everywhere she looks, the sun burning her skin as the winds surround her. It all feels so familiar, the sights, the animals, the long days of travel. Andromache, sitting by her side, walking by her side, sleeping by her side. Andromache, Andy, Andreas, Hadriana, Anath and so many other names forgotten by time. And still, she’s here, with her.

They are not riding horses but it doesn’t matter, Quỳnh would crawl to the end of the world with Andromache. They left their jeep three days ago at the entrance of those lands and they’ve been traveling by feet since then. The pace is slow but that’s what they both need. Peace, to be able to feel the grain of time slip through their fingers, not lost in the confusion of the modern world and its obsession with going so fast nothing matters anymore.

They talk as they walk, share memories and new stories, but mostly they walk, side by side, hand brushing and glances shared in the intimacy of the wide and open Steppe. Even the wind taste familiar in these moments. Quỳnh watches a lot, at night when the sun has gone down, she watches Andromache’s profile lightened only by the fire in front of her. Shadows dances in her temples and cheekbones and her pale eyes are drawn to the flames, mirrors bright with life. Quỳnh wishes she could bridge the distance between them as easily as they used to.

~

When the salt finally ate through her bound of iron, when the ocean took mercy on her, when Quỳnh broke out of her prison the first thing she felt after the burn of air in her lungs was an indescribable fury. A mad feeling seething in her heart that she mistook as anger, resentment. But it wasn’t that at all, she now recognizes it. She felt shame, because she knew then, crawling on the rocky beach away from the cold ocean that it happened. She had been broken, after millenniums of riding the world without a care, a handful of lunatics had done it.

She feared she had become nothing but a shell of the woman she was once. An’ always said she was like a sword, sharp edges and unforgiving. She used to joke that no one but her love’s skilled hands could handle her, that it was meant to be the two of them. It felt good, to know she would always have a resting place with Andromache.

She feared she lost herself in the ocean, that despite how hard she kept her faith in Andromache, how hard she clung to life, suffering over and over through the pain of drowning, of burning water suffocating her lungs, she feared she lost it all. That Andromache wouldn’t have that sacred place for her anymore, that she had become monstrous at the eternity spend in a cage.  That despite how bright of a beacon it has been, her love somehow couldn’t be enough to save her. That their love wasn’t enough.

She was mad, furious at what happened to her, but more than anything she was scared. Scared of this new world, of what it had become and what she missed. Scared that she’d never find her family, that she would never have a home with them again.

And now, in a twisted play from fate, she is scared of losing Andromache.

She is so scared, like she has never been. Before seeing that damned iron coffin, nothing frightened her, for she had Andromache. Even the coffin didn’t fill her with as much dread as the sight of those bruises on Andromache’s cheek did when she finally found her again with the spy’s contacts the drunkard gave her. She wondered, has she lost her? Has she lost part of her soul? Did she cause this cruel fate?

~

They left the family a week ago. They needed time alone they said as they were packing their bags. Quỳnh needs time alone with Andromache, to be only with her, like they had been for so long before meeting Yusuf and Nicolò. She missed them, but looking at them doesn’t hurt like it does when she watches Andromache’s face. Andy said she had to leave, to be alone for a while, away from it all. It warmed Quỳnh’s cold chest that she was included in her idea of alone, that alone without Quỳnh means not whole, not complete, lacking.

They took a plane and flew all the way to the Great Steppe. At least it hasn't changed since she was gone, unlike her homelands. There’s still a bitter taste when she sees what happened to her mountains and her coastlines. Andromache says it gets easier after a few years, but she’s not sure she wants this to be more bearable, to get used to it.

They’ve been playing a game lately, “what hasn’t changed” she calls it. It started a few months ago when she finally grew tired of being reminded of everything new she missed the creation of. She looked at Yusuf who had been explaining to her some new gadget she had no interest in learning about that night and challenged him to find five things in the room that she knew of. It’s been easier talking with him since then, almost like before. The rules are simple, list everything that stayed the same through the centuries she wasn’t there for. Nicolò’s uncanny words, Yusuf’s bright eyes. The stars. An’s sweet tooth. The way Quỳnh still wields blades with the same grace; she can still spar with Yusuf in their shared Viet, Greek and Persian tongues.

Her love’s face hasn’t changed yet, despite her new mortality. She still has the same piercing eyes that look like home, that calls for her to come back home, please come back to me she heard Andromache cry out in her sleep.

She hides, hides it well in the day, in front of Yusuf and Nicolò and Nile. She smiles and laughs and moves the same. It’s only when they’re alone that she allows the walls to break down and for Quỳnh to see what’s going on in her head. The guilt in her eyes every time she looks at her, the way she touches her like she’s fragile, like she’s mist that would dissipate with the smallest gust of wind. She was so ready for Quỳnh to hate her when they found each other again, she doesn’t think Andromache’s really let go of this idea, that she doesn’t deserve Quỳnh, that she somehow failed by not letting her life rot by looking after an impossible task.

Quỳnh only needed one look at her pendant around Andromache’s neck, the pain etched in her eyes, the desperation in her voice for all doubt that she had been forgotten to leave her mind. The anger, the bitterness was still there, but how could she ever loathe Andromache, the other half of her soul, the one so unjustly ripped away from her?

At night, that’s when Andy confesses her fears. How scared she is too, of dying, of being gone after so long, of being without her family, without Quỳnh. Of losing that constant in her life, that she knew she would be there to see it happen, whatever was bound to happen.

She tells Quỳnh about her fear of aging, of her hands shaking, her hairs falling grey, her vision turning blurry, her feet uneasy and her mind crazy. Her fear of leaving them behind, the fear of the unknown. After all those years, the unanswered question still bears heavily on her. She wished she had answers like Nicolò and Yusuf do, like Nile does. That assurance that there’s something after for her.

She has nightmares too. When it’s not Quỳnh waking up cold and her chest squeezed by terror, it’s Andy who sweats through the sheet and mumbles names over and over. She dreams about Lykon, the hot blood on her hands. Quỳnh holds her through the night and they cry together, still bearing the grief for their lost brother. They share the burden, and that is all Quỳnh can ask for, wish for.

They share a lot of tears for the years lost to men’s madness, the one they won’t have, their mistakes and misdeeds. They share laughs too, when it’s late and the night is dark and the house quiet. Those real shards of joy that sounds like a thousand carillon, the sweet, soft laughter that heals and mends. They are rare, so, so precious. They talk about their first years together, learning to speak the same tongue, to move as one. They hold each other, close and dearly, with the desperation of a drowning man because Quỳnh refuses to let her go and Andy can’t seem to stop reaching out either, always seeking a touch.

It helps, feeling her hands in hers, her lips against hers, their body pressed together under the covers and standing hips to hips in the house, never apart, always locking eyes and sharing smiles.

~

They’ve set their camp in a nook of rocks just as the sun approached the horizon, near a small freshwater current and protected from the winds. They gathered wood together and Andromache used her metal lighter to start the fire. They unrolled their bedrolls and the thick plastic tarp and they filled their bottle with cool water, washed their hands in the stream like they so often did in time pasts.

They’re preparing their meal, Quỳnh’s cutting the few roots they have and boiling the barley and Andromache is gutting the two rabbits she killed earlier with her bow, her own labrys laid between them as the knives work. She’s wearing jeans and a woolen sweater and yet it still feels familiar, the sound of the blades and the crackling of the fire, the smell of wood and iron pot, the sight of the clear night sky, no clouds to cross the picture.

They chat idly in their own tongue as they work, no English, modern or what Quỳnh remembers, not even the so recent Italian language or the Sabir Yusuf spoke with them at first. No, it’s old, old enough that it’s forgotten by everyone, everything, papers and stones except for two being on this earth. They throw in the occasional olden Greek and Latin when they are in need of too new of a concept but it soothes Quỳnh’s heart to speak what she first learned, to build it again with Andromaque, keep its memory alive. It feels like saving a part of herself.

The comfortable silence is broken by a sudden shout from Andromache followed by a string of cuss and a number of blasphemies to at least three different cultures. Quỳnh turns her head in time to see her throw the half-skinned rabbit and the knife on the ground and clutch her hand to her chest. Her grip on her knife lessen and she wills her worries to quiet down.

“Fucking shit,” Andromache mutters under her breath and Quỳnh can see the blood flowing from the wound she inflicted on herself. She’s pressing on it but it doesn’t stop the blood from dripping down to her wrist. “Cut my hand.”   She says and turns to shrug at Quỳnh, feigning carelessness. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

“You really should let me handle the knives, my love,” Quỳnh says as she sets her own knife down. Andromache has been hurt enough for her to know how to react in situations like this one, the sense of dread has quietened since the first wound she saw on her love’s body. “I would appreciate it if you could bring all your fingers to our couch tonight.” She tries to laugh; Andromache tries to smile. It still hurts too much but she knows it would somehow feel worse to not at least pretend that everything is okay. As wrong as it sounds, that hollow laugh of hers and the tight smile stretched over Andromache’s face feels like a breath of fresh air in the depth of their heavy hearts.

“We talked about this,” Andromache mutters. “I don’t want this to change anything.” This. This. This feels so unjust. How could the world punish them like that, taunt Andromache with eternity and take it all away just as Quỳnh finds her way back to her.

“Letting me use the knife won’t take away your skills my love. Or your honor.” She’s tiring of Andromache’s misplaced guilt, of her own heart betraying her and making her doubt. They have too few years to taint them with such futile thoughts and feelings. It’s at this instant, Andromache still holding on her hand and Quỳnh watching her hair falling in front of her eyes that she decides to push past what is outside of her control and move forward. She’ll keep the pain in her heart but she won’t let it define her, nor will she let Andromache be defined by it.

“Come,” She says and extends her arm toward her. “Give me your hand. Nile showed me how to care for wounds.” They’ll move on, gods help her they will find their path again, she swears it. Andromache holds her gaze for a moment, tilt her head, and it’s the first time since they reunited that Quỳnh gets that feeling. The one deep down that she knows, that they both know, that they are one. That they don’t need words, only a look, a touch to get it, to understand the other. Her throat lumps with relief as Andromache gives her her hand to hold. She’s holding her gaze with a peace she hadn’t see in so long, warm and confident despite the chaos surrounding them. Things will get better her guts murmur, and she believes it.

“It was time you pick up on this century’s medicine my heart, the way things are going I’ll have more scars than a crocodile has teeth before I get my first grey hair.” And this time the joke feels right. It feels like home, like the teasing and ribbing they shared so many times before a battle, on their couch, at a meal, in the busy streets, vast deserts and quiet forests. Quỳnh grins as she takes the small first aid kit in their bag and opens it in front of her, still holding Andromache’s wrist between her fingers.

“I might as well do it, seeing how determined you are at testing Nile’s and Nicolò’s knowledge of medicine. They need someone who isn’t afraid of telling you off before you run faster than modern science can follow.”

“It’s the hair,” Andromache says as if she hadn’t been intimidating kings and emperors with hair as long as a horse’s mane before Quỳnh even met her. Quỳnh smiles, the pain wavering in her heart as the warmth of feeling whole again gains her. Finally, she looks down at Andromache’s hand to judge the extent of the damage on the palm, only to have to double-take what she sees.

The blood isn’t flowing anymore and she knows that knife was sharp enough to dig deep in the flesh. The left hand, the one holding the meaty rabbit and the one victim to the blade’s enthusiasm, the one bearing the wound, doesn’t have any cut to show. Quỳnh’s breath locks as she stares at the hand, now cradled between her own.

“My love.” She says, and when she wipes the blood with her thumb, the skin appears undamaged, no cut, no scars, nothing but the smooth extend of her palm. She does it again, and a third time just to be sure. The flesh and muscles, tendons and bones underneath are unscathed, whole and perfect.

“What?” Andromache asks but keeps her eyes fixed on Quỳnh’s, a frown painting her face with worry. “Is it bad?”

“Your hand.” Quỳnh whispers. “Look at it.” There’s a moment of silence, maybe a minute, maybe an hour, Quỳnh herself isn’t sure. She just knows that she’s filling with euphoria and that Andromache’s right hand is touching the healed skin, slow strokes of wonder.

“It’s gone.” Her voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. She touches the skin, press on it, rub away the blood. It’s her hand that makes Quỳnh look up, and her eyes are filling with misty tears. “It’s gone. Quỳnh, I’ve healed.”

“Your immortality Andromache.” And the same shadow crosses Andromache’s eyes and her own mind.

“Wait.” Quỳnh lets go of her hand as she takes the knife again. They both watch as she brings the blade to the back of her forearm and slowly slices the skin, a hand long wound. It feels like one of those miracles Nicolò always talks about, the way the skin stitches itself close on its own, how the blood stop and the edges meet and the scar fades in a minute.

“It’s back, I’ve got it again.” The words are barely out of her mouth that Quỳnh wraps her arms around her neck and bring her close into an embrace, Andromache’s arms warm and heavy on her back. They’re shaking, laughing, whispering sweet nonsense into their shoulders, and Quỳnh knows tears are flowing from their eyes, she welcomes the liquid joy.

“Our love was enough then.” She can’t help but voice it out loud, needs to hear it to really understand the reality of what’s happening.

“Quỳnh?” Andromache pulls back, plunge her gaze into hers, it feels almost too much, too big.

“Our love was enough.” She feels herself laughing, nervous and bursting with relief, uncontrollable. “It is enough.” ‘I am enough’ she can’t help but think.

“What are you talking about Quỳnh? Of course it is. Always has been enough, more than enough. It has always been everything to me.” Both of her hands come to rest on the side of her face, cradling it with great gentleness.

“I was afraid my faith in you, in us had been wavering in my prison.” She confesses, lets herself feel it, feels the depth of the hurt now that she was proven wrong, that she knows it is untrue. “That you lost this gift of immortality because of me, because of my unreliable heart.”

“Oh Quỳnh.” Her voice breaks then, as does her face. “Have you been thinking this all this time?”

“Do you think me mad? To think that you losing your immortality coinciding with me finding you again broken, mad with fury, was nothing meaningless?” Quỳnh shakes her head then, covers Andromache’s hands with hers.

“Quỳnh, what are you talking about? I never doubted you.” Pain lines Andromache’s voice, desperation. “If you see yourself broken, then what am I? We are not as we were, will never be again. But that had nothing to do with you my heart.” She kisses her with urgency as if she couldn’t use her words to express everything in her heart. Quỳnh closes her eyes and feels the wind dry lips move against her, slides her hands behind her neck and bring her even closer. They part with a pant and Andromache smiles, a genuine, guilt-free smile, small but the seed of something bigger. “Our love was never tainted, in all of our millenniums together, it survived every hardship, every terror, every obstacle. We will survive this too.”

“I knew this, somehow, but you understand better than anyone how the mind is. It’s so easy to be tricked by sorrow when you’re grieving and hurting.”

“I’ll spend this eternity given to me reminding you Quỳnh. We never understood this gift, there’s no point reading meaning where there’s none. The only thing I am sure of is the love that courses through this world, through us.” Andromache fixes her gaze on her, strong, unwavering, and oh how Quỳnh missed seeing it. “I love you like the earth loves the sun, undeterred, constant, in the depth of my being because without I am not alive.”

“Can you believe that I do not hate you then?” Quỳnh prompts and she closes her mouth into a tight line. “That what happened was never your fault? That you couldn’t find me any more than you could save Lykon? My anger is not directed at you, never was, never will be.”

“I hate that I couldn’t save you,” Andromache says with shame in her voice. “I should have been there for you. You lost so much because of me.” This isn’t a new conversation, but it’s only today that Quỳnh realizes what she needs to hear, not a logical argument nor a dismissal of her feelings.

“I forgive you,” She says, and this time it’s Andromache who let go of a tight laugh, wet with tears. “I forgive you, Andromache, of any fault you gave yourself, I absolve any wrong you think you’ve done. You’ve saved me once in that desert where our path crossed for the first time, you saved me again in this century. I do not accuse you of anything, and neither will you. You are free of this burden.”

“Thank you.” Andromache whisper, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, my love.” Healing won’t be easy, but this is a start. They can forgive each other, forgive themselves, move on from there with a clear slate and shoulders relieved from their heavy loads of sorrow. They can do anything; they are not strained by time or Death anymore.

“We have time.” Quỳnh realizes, just as Andromache swipes her thumb along her jaw. “You will live, and we have time.” She pushes back Andromache’s hair, and she allows herself to feel the relief too. “You will live Andromache, spend time with the family, with Nile, Yusuf and Nicolò. You will see Sébastien again.”

“I don’t have to go yet.” She says, and the smile that carves itself on her face is radiant, shining with newfound light. “I don’t have to go.” Her hand slide at the back of her neck and slowly she kisses her, once, light and barely there, she rests her nose on her cheek “I am only grateful to have the gift back, to have the opportunity to spend it for as long as I’ll have it with you, together.”

“Just the two of us,” Quỳnh says through another laugh, press her forehead against Andromache’s, feel the warm skin and her hands over her shoulders. Let herself feels it all.

“Until the end.”

Quỳnh breathes the same air as Andromache, in, out, feel the same pulse as hers under her fingers, beating as one, like it always had. Like it was always meant to be.

~

The stars are bright, old and eternal, hung high in the firmament.

The fire is slowly dying, the last flames licking the wood and giving their valiant effort to burn for a bit longer. The moon lights their step, pale blue and cold on their warm skin. They are dancing together, waltzing under the milky way, hand pressed against hand, feet mirroring feet, circling each other as they did for the very first time ages ago, when the stars had different faces, when Andromache was still called a goddess’s name and Quỳnh’s was a whisper amongst her people’s legend.

Their gaze locked, lost in each other’s eyes, their nose touching and sharing the same breath, it feels like a dream.

“Do you remember my love,” Quỳnh pants as she shifts on her feet and pushes her hand against An’s, raising it high in the sky. “That night in Bābilim?” She grins and twists her hips just so as to press Andromache closer to her chest. She wishes she could crawl into her ribcage, be as close as possible, seize her heart from the inside and never let go again. She settles on sliding a leg between hers and let herself get lost in her scent, drunk from it like a young boy is from his first sip of ale.

“If I remember,” Andromache whispers in her ear. “You looked like wildfire. The most beautiful creature I had ever seen.” There had been music Quỳnh remembers, and wine flowing like rivers from the amphoras. She danced through the night, and Andromache’s gaze upon her was heavy and burning, she felt stripped from everything, baring her soul for the first time in her life. That’s the night their love became more than allyship, more than friend and necessity. That’s when it shifted to become more, to become everything.

“Do you remember what I said?” Andromache asks her, lays her left hand to her chest and she does the same, feel her heartbeat strong under her palm despite their clothing.

“More please!” Quỳnh moans like An’s does and pushes away with her hand only to crash together with the next steps. Andromache grins and indulges her change of rhythm. They had a room that night, a soft bed of feathers and fine silks like they had seldom seen with their own eyes.

“After that. On the balcony.” And Quỳnh remembers fondly that moment. Andromache had draped herself over her back, holding onto each other and murmuring in the quiet night. The moon had been full then too, albeit the desert looked warmer than the Steppe they are dancing in today. They circle each other again, Quỳnh savors the moment with her entire being.

“You will be my deathbed.” She meant it as a joke after the night filled with passion, but they both knew the deeper meaning. It hanged unsaid in the air between them. “Remember what I said?”

“And you mine.” Andromache presses her nose close to her cheek, her breath warm on her skin. They are silent after that, don’t need words anymore, not when they have each other.

They finish their dance when the last of the fire blow away in the night. They press their foreheads together and stand in the middle of the Steppe, alone, together. Whole and one. For the first time in over a year, in over five centuries, her heart finally feels at peace. She’s home, in the embrace of Andromache’s arms, of Andy’s, in the certainty that they won against fate, that they are truly immortal. That they’ll live together again.

The stars are bright and Andromache’s eyes are even brighter, Quỳnh is sure of that.

[ingloriousblasters]

Yours and Mine (Merle x Female Reader)

I’m not really sure if this played out as well as in my brain, but oh well. Here’s some Merle angst and fluff for your evening. 

Warnings: brief smut, fluff and angst. 

The beam of morning sunlight snuck through the bars of the cell and you turned on your side in reaction to the bright light. Reaching your hand out for the warm body that was usually next to you, your fingers found nothing but the old scratchy sheets of the bed. Peaking an eye open you glanced around the cell, noticing the pile of dirty clothes Merle conveniently left in the middle of the room when the basket was in the corner. The ornery man nowhere to be found.

Since the fall of Woodbury a few weeks ago, it was taking some time for things to return back to normal at the prison. With the threat of the Governor gone, it was weird to suddenly live in peace for the foreseeable future. The few residents left of the town joined Rick's group and many of you were teaching them the ropes around the guarded building. Even though you and Merle were still relatively new as well, Merle’s history to the group and your relationship to him made you two approachable to Woodbury’s leftovers.

Finally getting out of bed to start your day, you slipped into your usual dark jeans and fitted v-neck. Gathering Merle’s clothes, you placed them in the basket with your own. You had a few things on your schedule today and couldn’t remember when his next run was and he’d need fresh clothes. Merle had a tendency to go through his whole wardrobe without leaving any spares while everything was being cleaned. Collecting the basket you left the cell, on the lookout for anyone who might have seen Merle this morning so you could talk to him on your way out to the stream near the prison. You passed through the dining hall when Carol came out of the kitchen area with a can of fruit and an opener.

“Hey, have you seen Merle lately?” you asked, moving the basket of clothes to rest on your hip.

She shook her head as she fixed the opener to the metal can and began twisting the handle. “He was down by the fences this morning showing some of the new ones how to ‘properly kill’ the walkers,” she said emphasizing her last words. The lid of the can popped open and the semi fresh scent of peaches filled the air. You gave a forced smile at her words, but there was a slight falter in your heart  “Might still be there.” she said. Nodding your head, you thanked Carol, accepted the slice of peach she handed you, and continued your search for the man.

Even though you and Merle had been seeing each other for a couple of months now, the relationship was still new and you still had your doubts. All you ever overheard about him was his past. When you first arrived at Woodbury, you heard the whispers about how he’d hit on anything with two legs and how he had slept with more than a handful of the town’s female population. Then at the prison, it was the quiet talk of how he treated the group and tried to sleep with Andrea. Over time, you rationalized with yourself that all that was in the past, but it was still hard to ignore. Merle had a personality and on more than one occasion you had seen him showing off at the fences to the newcomers that were put on duty. A particularly perky red head was on your radar as she seemed to reciprocate Merle’s flirting. The man could be charming when he wanted to, it’s how you fell for him, with that stupid grin and the bluest eyes you’d ever seen. And that’s what you had to keep reminding yourself; Merle was with you. At the end of the day, he came back to you in your shared cell.

The heavy door screeched open as you glanced outside towards the fields. The humidity hit you immediately as you looked over the barren fields. Cupping a hand over your eyes from the sun, you saw a few people standing out on watch. Looking up, you saw Glenn and Maggie in the guard tower, but no sign of Merle. Thinking to yourself if he was on fence duty this morning, he might be over in the armory cleaning off and returning the weaponry. Letting out a sigh, you released the metal door and returned inside the concrete walls. By this time, the laundry basket was just an annoyance and you hoped your Merle scavenger hunt would be over soon. As you neared the open door to the armory, you heard the unmistakable raspy voice.

“Hey Merle,” you called out. Turning the corner, your heart froze at what you saw. Merle stood with his hand on the shoulder of the red headed woman, their lips parting at your entrance. A wave of lightheadedness came over you and the basket of clothes you were holding fell to the ground with a thud. Merle’s head turned at the noise.

“Shit,” he muttered when his eyes connected with yours. Feeling tears prick at your eyes you exited from the doorway, wanting to leave the scene as quickly as possible. Merle pushed aside the red head and called after you. Each call of his voice sent more sharp pains to your chest, like he was stabbing you in the heart with his own knife. As you passed a stack of boxes down the dimly lit hall, the voices you tried so hard to ignore surfaced. You knew something like this would happen. How could it not? Merle was Merle, and yet somehow you let him wiggle his way into your heart, which was crumbling with each step you took. Halfway down the hall, you felt his hand grab your forearm.

“(Y/n)! Will ya stop?” he barked, spinning you around to face him.

“Why?!” you responded. Ripping your arm from his grip you quickly brushed the tears that had leaked from your eyes.

“It’s not what ya think. I can explain!”

“Let me guess,” you crossed your arms. “She tripped, right?”

“What? No!” he said, taken aback by your response. You rolled your eyes at him which caused a low growl to escape under his breath. Both of you were running high off your emotions, and before he could get another word in, your mouth spat out the thoughts that had been attacking your head.

“Well bravo, Dixon,” the hurt sarcasm dripping from your words. “You really had me fooled. Thought you might have actually care about me, but I should’ve known better.” You turned to leave again as you couldn’t hold in the tears anymore.

Merle let out another growl. “Damnit, (y/n)! It ain’t like that!” He punched the stack of cardboard boxes you had passed. His strides quickly drew nearer to you and you turned on your heels, causing him to stop in his tracks. Sticking out your finger, you pointed accusingly at him.

“Don’t follow me, Dixon!”

You glared at him one more time and made your way back towards the front of the prison in silence. The only footsteps heard in the hallway your own.

Later that evening when you knew Merle was on watch, you gathered some of your things and went to bunk with Carol. She understood your relationship with Merle, never judged you for it. Being close to Daryl, she understood their background like you, and said you could stay as long as you needed to.

--------

It had been a week since your fight and Merle kept his distance, but your days were filled with those piercing blue eyes on you. You felt them from the guard tower when you were out in the fields, on your returns from runs, and in the dining hall. Whenever you caught him watching you, Merle’s eyes never budged. Sometimes he would move towards you, but you’d find a way to excuse or involve yourself in something else to get away. Truthfully, you missed him but we’re just as stubborn, and you were still angry at him.

After coming back from a run that lasted most of the day, you were covered in sweat and grime. When you went to bunk with Carol, you had forgotten your coveted strawberry scented body wash in your cell. It was your favorite brand so you only used it sparingly and whenever Merle asked. He was like a moth to a flame whenever you did, almost smothering you in bed inhaling your sweet scent to rid himself of the rotting stench that now covered the earth.

You never went back for it in case you ran into Merle, but with the way your day had gone, nothing sounded better than lathering up in the soothing soap and crashing into bed. Taking a chance, you gathered a new set of clothes and towel before walking to Merle’s cell. Pulling the plastic tarp away from the door, you hurried inside. Bending down, you reached underneath the bottom bunk and pulled out the pink and gold plastic bottle. When you got back to your knees the swish of the tarp moving made your heart race. Merle whispered your name and slowly you got up and turned around. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you gathered your things and bolted out of the cell.

You heard the heavy footsteps follow you to the shower station and hoping he’d get the hint, you entered the door and slammed it closed. There were four stalls in the prison showers, all divided by half tiled walls that only came up just past your waist. The generator in the area still had enough juice to heat the water, and everyone in the prison rationed the amount of time everyone could use the source. Picking the second stall from the right, you stripped of your sweaty clothes, set the towel and fresh clothing on the top of the dividing wall, and started the shower. The semi warm water hit your shoulders, running down your back and your muscles began to relax. Taking the bottle of body wash, you squeezed some into your hands and began to massage the liquid into your skin.

Consumed in the healing water, you failed to notice the slight click of the door opening. It was only when you turned around and saw him standing at the end of your stall did you let out a shriek.

“Merle!” you yelled, cursing yourself for being so stupid and forgetting to lock the door. You walked as fast as you could on the slippery floor to your things, but Merle grabbed them before you even had a chance. He placed the towel under his arm and when you went to try and swipe the clothes from his hands he backed away. You watched in utter disbelief as he sprinted towards the door and threw your clothes into the hall. Merle twisted the lock on the knob and sauntered back over to your stall.

“What the hell are you-” you started to yell.

“No, damn it!” Merle cut you off. “Ya been avoiding me all week and now ya finally got nowhere ta go.” After a moment of intense silence, you surrendered to him by turning around and finishing your shower. Merle leaned against the dividing wall, setting the towel back down and crossing his arms over the top of it.

“I never wanted what happened at the armory to happen,” he started, his voice as calm as you had ever heard it. “She...she kissed me and I tried pushing her away when you came in.” As Merle talked, you stayed underneath the flow of water from the shower head, trying your best to mask the tears on your face.

“Damnit (y/n), I got the whole goddamn bunk ta myself and I haven’t had one lick of sleep cause I can’t stop thinking about ya.” You didn’t respond and continued rinsing your hair.

“Ok, I get it,” Merle stated when you didn’t acknowledge him. His voice was quiet with resignation, and you heard the clink of his metal attachment on the tile as he went to leave.

“Wait,” you called out for him, shutting the shower head off. “I’m sorry too.”

Merle cocked his head to the side as he walked back towards you. “Why?” he asked confused.

Biting your lip, you closed your eyes and let out a sigh. Merle had been honest with you and now it was your turn.

“Because I let my emotions and insecurities get the better of me,” you finally admitted, opening your eyes. “I was scared I wasn’t enough for you. That you’d start to get restless and it…” you paused trying to control the cracking in your voice. “It scared me because I really, really like you.”  

Merle nodded at your words and glanced down at the floor deep in thought. “I, uh, guess if we want this thing ta work between us we probably shouldn’t go a week without talking about stuff, huh?”

“Guess so,” you shrugged your shoulders.

Merle leaned over to grab the towel he had been hoarding, placing part of it under the crook of his bad arm and holding the opposite corner in his hand. The gray fabric covered the front of his body and he motioned his head for you to come forward. Slowly, you crossed the distance between the two of you, turning when you got to Merle so he could wrap the towel around you. You gathered the ends, tucking the corner inside and circled back around to look at Merle. His eyes softened, finally being able to be near you again. He leaned forward but you turned your face at the last moment, your cheek catching the scratchy kiss meant for your lips.

“Merle,” you whispered warningly. He let out a frustrated sigh, leaning his forehead against your temple.

“Come on, sugar,” he pleaded against your ear. His voice sending a warm tingle throughout your body. “What else do ya want from me? Hmm? Tell me.” He started to place soft pecks on your cheek, which you allowed. You wanted him badly, but couldn’t bring yourself to it, not until you admitted what was really bothering you.

“Am I yours?” you asked.

“Mhmm,” Merle agreed as his hand snaked down to your bottom, underneath the towel, and started to massage and knead the soft flesh.

“Are you mine?” you whispered.

Merle moved his head to look you in the eyes. “Of course.” He leaned in again to try and kiss you but you caught his chin with your hand.

“I mean it, Merle. If I am, I need you to really show it. I don’t want another woman thinking she can make a move on you because you tell her she’s a good fence watcher.”

“Sugar, nothing like that is ever gonna happen again. I swear on my baby brother’s life,” he promised you, his eyes never breaking from yours. You nodded your head, deciding at that moment to move on. If your relationship was to keep going, you both had to move forward. Merle’s tongue peaked out and ran over his lips as he waited for you to make the next move or not. You gently tugged his face closer, your hand still very much attached to his chin and kissed him. It started slow, gentle as you both hadn’t connected in a week, but soon turned deeper when you parted your lips allowing Merle access.

“Mine,” you whispered as you finished the kiss, sucking on his lower lip. Merle’s mouth twitched in a smile.

“Yes Ma’am,” he grinned back, placing a kiss to your palm. Your hand slid from his face, tracing a line down his body from his strong chest, to his sturdy abs, and stopping just above the button of his pants. Merle’s chest was rising and falling as quickly as your own and you waited one more beat before slowly sliding your hand down and palming his bulge. Squeezing softly, Merle let out a groan and his grip on your side tightened.

“Mine,” you repeated.

“Yours,” he moaned as you continued teasing him through the fabric of his pants. Merle captured your lips with his again and backed you into the corner of the shower. His hand sneaked up your side and unhooked the corner of the towel wrapped around you. It fell to shower floor with a soft puff and you wrapped your arms around Merle’s neck, tugging softly on his hair. His attachment settled around your lower back and you gasped when the cold metal hit your skin.

In a few seconds you had his cargo pants undone and pulled down just enough for him to spring free. He lifted you off of your feet and braced you against the corner of the shower, where the back wall and dividing wall met. Your legs clung to his sturdy frame and Merle slid into your wet core with ease. Moaning at your connection, you braced an arm on the ledge of the dividing wall while your head fell back. Merle wasted no time setting a fast pace, both of you frantic for each other after no contact for the last few days. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking all along the area.

“Oh god Merle,” you moaned. The familiar warmth starting to spread over your body.

“That’s it, sugar,” he whispered as he felt you getting closer to your release. Merle started to pump faster as he knew both you wouldn’t last much longer. Your voices echoed off the tiled walls and with one last thrust, you came shuddering around Merle’s length.

Merle dropped you to your feet as he pulled out, coming on your stomach. He braced you up against the wall as your legs still trembled from your orgasm. You two stayed like that for a few minutes, collecting yourselves and catching your breath. Merle inhaled your scent and moaned.

“God ya smell good. Ya use that strawberry stuff?” he asked. You giggled at his statement and nodded your head.

“Yeah, but now I’m all dirty again,” you smiled. Merle placed a kiss on your lips and proceeded to rid himself of his clothes and attachment. The two of you showered together, taking turns using the scented body wash to clean each other with.

Forgetting that Merle threw your clothes out, and your towel on the shower floor was sopping wet, Merle slipped back into his pants while he let you throw on his button up shirt. You left the showers and collected your clothing that was spread along the hallway. Returning back to the cell you two shared, Merle spent the rest of the evening continuing to show you just how much he was yours.

[gearyoak]

Gray, Red, Black

i am struggling to find inspiration, this is all i have lmao so how bout a lil young mcgenji in the modern zombie apocalypse??? eh?

there’s blood and stuff, and a few dead guys as well also my sub par writing ;)

The windows hadn’t been broken, and that had given him hope. Genji expressed several times over that that wasn’t something he should experience anymore. No matter how empty a home looked, how clean water seemed, or how unbroken a gas station’s windows were, McCree should never get his hopes up. Sometimes, following a hope got in the way of being smart, and being smart is what kept Genji alive for so long.

“Seems like an awful pessimistic way of livin’, if you ask me,” McCree had told him.

“Pessimistic?” Genji’s eyes were focused on the road ahead of him, pulling the truck up onto the sidewalk in front of the gas station, but he still laughed. “You’ve met my brother, haven’t you?”

“I think I’d be safe in sayin’ you and him have the same outlook on life, he just got stuck with the bad sense of humor.”

Genji laughed again, twisting the keys from the ignition and tossing them up onto the dash. “There are worse ways to live,” was what he ended up saying in his and his brother’s defense. “And quicker ways to die.”

The gas station showed no signs of a break in, but that was only because the building had been left unlocked. The shelves were relatively empty, the contents of garbage cans strewn across the floors, and the cash register forced open and picked clean. They weren’t worried on that front, not at that point yet, at least. The school still had a decent food stock from when the shelter had been running, and they had since learned to ration efficiently, but medicine was what they started to fret over. Days were getting shorter, and the weather harsher. The last thing they needed was a flu pandemic wiping out what was left of their group.

“Maybe this is why we get along so well, Jesse,” Genji said, moving a tattered piece cardboard idly with the end of his bat. “Because I am pessimistic, and you love to be proven wrong.”

McCree regarded him with a dismissive eye roll but otherwise chose to ignore him. “Any first-aid kit they’d’ve had would prol’ly be with the cleanin’ stuff. We should check out back for a supply closet.”

The freezers had been left open, but there was nothing left within to go bad or spoil. They checked each one briefly, just to ensure their emptiness. The most they found was a stained blanket, and a pair of children’s shoes. McCree shut the door to that freezer, and neither him or Genji made a comment.

Their search led them to the farthest side of the station to a closed door branded with a simple label of “CLOSET”.

“Think this’s it?” McCree asked with a grin, positioning himself on one side of the door. With one hand he gripped the doorknob – twisting it once to make sure it was unlocked – and in the other he held a knife.

Genji stepped back and away from the door. “No. They put the ‘CLOSET’ sign up there to fool us. We should keep looking.”

“Maybe that’s what they wanted us to think.”

“Maybe. I’m ready when you are.”

The door didn’t screech on its hinges when McCree pulled it open, slow and steady as to not disturb whatever might be waiting for them. Inside was still and cluttered. Shelves lined either side of two walls, along with the few that were pushed to the middle of the room, creating a narrow square path that allowed passage throughout the closet. Each shelf was filled with different containers and bottles, some having leaked onto the concrete floor and leaving a nearly overbearing chemical odor behind. Push brooms and mops were leant up against a doorway on the opposite side of them, and above that door was an unlit exit sign. In one corner, a pile of plastic tarps.

No first-aid kit in sight, however.

Genji made a low noise, a sort of disappointed hum. “This doesn’t seem to follow fire safety regulations,” he said at first, offhandedly. Then he lowered his bat and added, “I’ll go search up front again. Maybe they kept it at the register.”

“Yeah. I’ll see if I can find anything outta this mess.”

They separate, but not before Genji squeezes at McCree’s hip wordlessly, and only after McCree returns the gesture with a quiet, “See ya soon.” They had made sure the building was empty, but things haven’t seemed to go anyone’s way as of late. There was always room to worry for each other.

Now that he was alone, the front of the store seemed more eerie in its silence. Through the trees, orange light filtered in and casted long, jagged shadows along every surface. Outside, a man shuffled onto the street, nearly tripping over some torn tire rubber before disappearing into the alley across the way.

Eerie, but peaceful, in the solemn way that is brought with the end of the world.

Genji hopped over the counter and landed in the midst of several Rice Krispies Treat wrappers. The foil crunched when he kicked them away absentmindedly and he didn’t pay them any attention afterward. He crouched and opened each cabinet one by one. They were small and it wasn’t likely for something to be hiding in there, but habits like those would die with him.

He found paper towels, Windex, rolls of receipt paper, a container of pens, paper bags, and no first- aid kit. The door to the last cabinet shut a little too forcefully, and Genji let out a weary sigh. There were worse outcomes to their run, but returning to the school empty handed wasn’t ideal either. Angela was an exceptional nurse and she worked brilliantly with what little they had, but some might call that luck and it was bound to run out at some point. The same could have been said about sending people out on these pointless searches. McCree and him will return with nothing that day, but what of when they send two or three more for a hopeless run? They go out for nothing and never come back.

Genji straightened suddenly, refusing to think about it further. There was one last hope; they haven’t checked the restrooms yet and it seemed promising at this point. Their last shot.

“Jesse,” he called toward the double doors, already heading for the entrance. “I’m going around and checking the bathrooms outside.”

McCree’s response came just before he pulled the glass door open, “Hold on, I’ll come with you. I ain’t findin’ shit in – “

The other’s voice was cut off by a crashing noise, like metal scraping against concrete, and then a thunderous crash. Genji was already moving by the time he heard McCree swearing, bursting through the double doors hard enough that the echo of them slamming against the walls resounded throughout the building.

The door labeled ‘CLOSET’ had been shut in the time it took Genji to reach it, and it shook and rattled, as if there was a struggle happening on just the other side. He twisted the knob and was met with the resistance of a lock. His fist pounded once against the wood and he cursed loudly, panicked. Kicking it down would take too much time, and he didn’t have enough room in the hallway to even attempt it.

Genji repeated his curse, tacking on a few more as he retraced his steps back to the entrance. The sun had set further, and the sky went from gold to grey. With it had come a chill, but Genji hardly paid it any mind, didn’t slow even when the cool air stung at his face. Racing around the gas station, passed the bathrooms, he didn’t stop until he was faced with the metal door he remembered from the closet.

“Don’t be locked,” he begged the rusted metal, and then pulled on its handle. There was a crunch of corrosion and it gave way a little, but remained stuck to its arch. Genji couldn’t hear anything on the other side. His breath rattled in his chest and he tugged again, “Fuck, fuck – Jesse? I’m at the exit! I can’t – “ The door peeled open, swinging wide and nearly taking Genji with it. He stumbled back, steadying himself just barely and with yet another swear.

The closet was in worse shape than what he left it in. Shelves had toppled over, the chemicals that had been stacked on them now accumulating in puddles along the floor. The formation of the shelves was in disarray, one entire side of the square having been collapsed in a domino-esque fashion. Besides dripping of liquid, there was no noise. He was not hesitant to break the silence, rushing forward and around the corner with a type of reckless abandon. Even though his bat was still held in a white-knuckled grip, Genji’s thoughts were not on protection nor self-preservation. It was desperation, a need to find McCree, to get home, to lay in his own bed and ensure that he would have a cowboy to share it with.

He saw the plastic tarps on the floor and registered that they had been moved first, and that they were wet with something second, right after he stepped on one. Before he lost his footing, he latched on to one of the metal racks and threw his weight back onto the leg still on safe ground. The tarp under him shined with a red fluid, tinted deeply with brown and smelled heavily of bleach. Genji’s eyes followed the trail of plastic to where they had originally been piled in the corner, finding a circle of the same color dried into the concrete.

Old blood, his brain supplied. Not Jesse’s. Can’t be Jesse’s. Carefully, Genji stepped over the tarp and the now empty Clorox container to continue onward.

McCree was sitting with his back pressed to the closet door when Genji found him. His expression was hidden to him as his head was bowed slightly, hair falling forward to shield his face. Genji didn’t need to see it to know what he was staring at.

Across from McCree laid a man, old and shriveled but most likely middle-aged when it died. The skin was brown and cracked along the edges of its ears, its eyes, and was simply missing around its mouth, but there was no mistaking the man it had been before. It wore khaki shorts and a polo half tucked in the front; an old corpse, from the beginning. There was a knife lodged into its chest – not McCree’s; his was dropped in between his bent legs, wet with black. Genji thought back to the children’s shoes in the freezer, this man who had been buried under a pile of tarps. He couldn’t imagine the story behind them, and he didn’t want to.

He knocked the familiar knife away and took its place, dropping down onto his knees in between McCree’s thighs. With shaking hands, he grabbed at the cowboy’s left arm and searched through the mess of blood for any scratches or bites, running his fingers along the rolled-up sleeve of McCree’s flannel. There were no tears in the fabric, so he moved on.

In the time it had taken him to repeat the process with the other arm, and then checked his torso and neck, McCree had yet to respond to him. His gaze went passed Genji, still somehow locked onto the body behind him. He wasn’t used to this, Genji knew. McCree had told him he had little to do with outside of the school until recently, only having helped keep the gates clear prior. Even then that was with a gun in his hand, a brick wall, and yards of distance in between; he hardly had any experience with lame brains up close.

Gently, Genji took both of McCree’s hands into his own. He lifted one, found an inch of skin that was clean of red, and pressed a kiss there. His mouth lingered when he heard McCree’s breath stutter out in one, long sigh. Tense shoulders relaxed as much as they could when he did the same to the other hand, the underside of his wrist, the crook of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. Finally, the cowboy shifted, and he pulled his hands from Genji’s to settle them at the younger’s waist.

“I’m fine, darlin’.”

Genji hummed and slumped forward until his forehead rested against McCree’s. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” he assured, closing his eyes. “What was that bastard doin’ under there, anyway?”

“I don’t know.”

They were allowed a few more moments of quiet peace until time caught up to them. The sun had just set, and the others were sure to be worrying about them. Genji never liked staying out passed dusk. He tilted his head so he could share another kiss, quick and chaste, one McCree could return. He whispered about how late it was, how Ana was sure to scold them for making her fret, and the cowboy laughed at that. Weakly, but genuine. Genji was glad to hear it.

With nothing to show for their troubles – besides new bruises – Genji and McCree retreated to the truck. It started up without a hassle, and the rumble of the engine drew out the man Genji had seen meander into the alley earlier. Death seemed to follow them everywhere, in more ways than one, but he was able to drive passed it this time. It screamed and reached for them with grayed hands, but its pace didn’t quicken – couldn’t quicken. It wouldn’t catch them, not today.

Genji reached over the center console and took McCree’s hand, his heart settling in his chest when he found it waiting for him, and did not think about tomorrow.

ppl got over zombies back in like 2013 but i never did. this is part of a bigger thing that i talked about with someone but never actually wrote so like there’s a story i’m just a lazy and terrible writer and didn’t commit.