#disclaimer i don't know how fighting or shooting arrows works so just go with the descriptions and act like they're plausible

[cosmicheromp3]

so yesterday it was 2am and i was feeling soft and i remembered this dumb post, and, well, i made it into an actual thing. and today it was 12am and i was feeling soft again and finally finished editing it. anyways here have some dickroy tenderness

A fist connects to a jaw and there’s barely any give under it, and that’s when Dick knows he’s in trouble.

There are one too many henchmen on a night where he shouldn’t, if he followed any logic, have gone out. He doesn’t remember the last time he got more sleep than just a quick nap – if he stopped to think about it, he’d realize it was more than three days ago. But to Dick, world-on-his-shoulders Dick, any night where he isn’t bedridden with an injury is a night when he can – should – go out. 

That’s not how the human body works, however. And Dick, for all the magic and powers and aliens that are part of his life, is just that. Human.

Maybe not “just” human, as he is still powering through, against all odds. He isn’t entirely himself, though, and anyone who knows him will notice – not enough flips, not enough show, not enough grace. His body, always yearning to take off and fly, seems to want to stay close to the ground. The limited space is working in his favor, the platform on the docks narrow enough that he can push attackers to the water, but a mistake is bound to happen any second.

And it does. One of the henchmen gets hold of a gun that, if Dick was the tiniest bit more lucid, he would have discarded properly. And this henchman, he points, to the bright blue symbol on Nightwing’s chest – shining in the night like a target he put on himself. 

But he never gets to pull the trigger. What he gets, instead, is an arrow knocking the gun off his hand and scraping his trigger finger, hurting him no more than a paper cut, like a warning.

It works like the flick of a switch; the air, heavy and humid like it always is in the docks, now feels electrical, like a song where there’s a sudden crescendo. Dick’s face is lit up by a grin that can’t be wider because it’s physically impossible, a slightly unsettling image paired up with the white eyes of his domino mask. Shrouded by the shadows, on his vantage point on top of a crate, the mysterious archer smiles, and almost wants to laugh. 

Even so far apart, they fight together like it’s a dance. No commands need to be called out loud; no warning to duck, no signal for where to shoot. It’s the practice of two people who’ve been teammates for as long as they can remember, and it’s the familiarity of two people who understand each other better than themselves. 

With a backflip and a kick and one last arrow zipping through the air, it’s done. Habit takes over and without stopping to think about it Dick’s tying up the mostly unconscious henchmen (only a preventive measure, for now, before he figures out what his course of action is here). He uses these seconds to try to get his breathing back to normal, but he doesn’t seem to be able to, and not entirely because of the fight.

“You can come out now.” He says to the now still darkness around him.  

Then, there he is. Roy Harper, bathed in moonlight, red hair and sparkling green eyes; he looks – impossible. Like a dream. With the sound of the waves splashing rhythmically against the docks, Dick thinks it’s hard not to find the poetry in the moment. He’s suddenly entirely awake, his chest pulsing with something he recognizes but doesn’t dare name. 

It’s been too long since he last saw him, and Dick aches. Roy does too. 

They both take a step forward at the same time – carefully, like they don’t want to disturb the night around them, but eager, hungry, impatient. 

Another step forward, another step forward, and then they’re only a breath away. The adrenaline wearing off and exhaustion kicking in, Dick is unable or unwilling to move, lest his muscles give out from under him – he only manages to stand there and breathe in Roy, his presence, his warmth. Roy lets his head fall, just the slightest bit, so his forehead rests against Dick’s. Dick is sweaty and his hair curls and sticks to the edges of his face, but neither of them notice, or care, for that matter. 

“You were supposed to arrive tomorrow.” Dick says, finding his voice, hoarse, and feeling the – the suggestion of Roy’s lips, so close, as his move to form the words.

“Something told me I would need to save your ass.” They both let out a breathy laugh, and their chests brush, if for a second. But it’s short lived, and then they’re still again. Roy tilts his head, not to kiss, not yet, and gets even closer: cheeks pressed together, softly leaning on each other. Dick’s arm, with a mind of its own, moves so that his hand curls around the side of Roy’s neck, thumb softly tracing the line of his jaw.

“Besides,” – breathe in; breathe out – “I wanted to surprise you.” Roy’s voice, barely above a whisper, fades out and melts into the night. 

For a moment, neither of them feel anything but their own breaths and each other’s heartbeats. When Dick’s body finally collapses – when he lets himself finally collapse –, Roy’s arms are ready to hold on to him, and Dick’s face fits perfectly snuggled into the crook of Roy’s neck. And if there’s a kiss, now, it’s only a brush of soft lips against dark hair; and if there’s a kiss, later, it’s in the comfort of home and in the privacy of each other – except, except, home was never really about a place. 

[julia-highstorms]

Routine (Eli x Kiera (F!MC))

Summary: Eli Sipes has learned since a young age that everything's about routine. Following a routine would help you survive. And later, he learned that not getting attached would help you survive by yourself better. But then, he met Kiera Tomoe. This takes place between chapters 9 and 10.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pixelberry Studios.

Rating: teen and older audiences (angst - trigger warning: death mention)

Pairing: Eli Sipes x Kiera Tomoe (F!MC) - Wake the Dead Masterlist

Word count: +2K

_______________________

Eli Sipes has learned since a young age that everything's about routine. Following a routine would help one survive.

He woke up at dawn that morning before everybody else, like he did everyday. Although it wasn't necessary anymore to hunt for food like before - ever since the Sunflower Creek came to Olympus, they had the privilege to feel a bit less stressed about food now that they had the orchard -, he was still used to waking up early.

So, he headed out to the arena they built a week back for his morning training. That included some boxing, jogging and archery training. It was both a way to keep himself as ready as possible for whatever thing that could happen and a way he found to relax. Eli wasn't much of a talker, but his mind certainly wouldn't stop with new thoughts and old memories running around all the time.

So, keeping himself focused on something was a good way he found to do other than thinking about his late family. He knew he could obsess over it and about the circumstances of their deaths and how he wasn't able to do anything to protect neither of them, over and over again.

He learned the hard way that not getting attached to other people would help one survive by themselves better. Because in the end, they would all be dead anyway.

Although that gloomy thought would often cross Eli's mind, he knew that being alive, fighting and surviving still was the best thing he could do to honor his parents' and his brother's memories.

After his morning training, Eli verified that he needed to stock up his arrows. He usually retrieved as many as possible when he could, but it didn't hurt to be more self prepared. So, he looked after some sticks and rocks and put himself to work.

_______________________

Kiera woke up early that morning again. She's had an insomnia problem since she could remember, but ever since Brynn's death, it became much more frequent.

Although it has been getting better. She had so many things going on - searching for more supplies, making alliances, making sure that everybody was well accommodated and feeling at least not terrible on being there and upgrading Olympus - that she barely had any time left to remember to think of her sister's death. But she knew that she would never forget that night. The sound of shotguns and Brynn's scream.

Kiera headed to the kitchen to grab something to eat, when she met Eli there, sitting by the table. Again, there were just the two of them.

He raised his gaze at her, his brown eyes finding hers.

"Morning." - she greeted him.

"Still having trouble sleeping?"

"Just a little now. It's been getting better." - she grinned at him and he nodded. Kiera noticed the sticks and rocks and other things scattered on the table and the knife in his hand. - "Making arrows?" - he nodded again.

"It never hurts to have some more around."

"That's so cool! The Tower always provided them to us, I've never learned how to make my own." - she sat down on the chair next to his. - "Can you teach me?"

She saw the corner of his mouth turning up.

"Combat training, bow shooting… and now you also want me to teach you how to make arrows? Don't you think you're getting a bit spoiled?" - he asked, that side smile of his that always made her want to kiss him back to his face.

"Pretty please?" - she batted her eyelashes. - "I know I'm your favorite person in this whole place, Eli. Then why don't I get a special treatment? I know the others wouldn't mind."

He shook his head, a low deep chuckle escaping his lips.

"So demanding." - and then, the next second, he was back to being serious again. - "Okay, grab a sharp knife and a stick."

And then, they spent the next hour making arrows together.

Due to their closeness, Eli could smell her delicate scent - she smelled like lavender - and their legs would eventually brush against one another, and his heart would beat a bit harder every single time that happened.

He cursed himself mentally for doing that. For letting himself get closer.

Not letting yourself get attached to other people was easier when there was no one around, like it happened during the period he still lived in his family's cabin. It was just him and the drones he took care of when they entered his property everyday.

But then, he met that group of people that night. And Kiera was there.

He liked them all. Shannon, Angel, even Troy, whose pastime seemed to be testing Eli's patience. They were all good people, but truth be told, he had a soft spot for Kiera Tomoe. Whatever thing she asked he eventually agreed on, even if it was against his own reason.

He wasn't sure if it was because he felt self responsible for what happened. Although he was aware that the young woman didn't blame him for leaving her sister behind - because they had to, that was the only thing possible to happen -, Eli still felt a bit guilty. Just like he knew how guilty Kiera herself might have felt about choosing to kill Angel's parents, which also was a good decision in his opinion. Just because they did the right thing, it didn't mean that it had been an easy decision.

He promised Brynn - through unspoken words - that he would help the group and guide them, but in the end, Kiera easily became the leader of their new colony.

She had much more the hang of it than himself. Eli wasn't exactly a people's person and didn't have the skill to make alliances, but Kiera was a natural in it. He might have been better prepared for the apocalypse, but she definitely was the right person to lead Olympus. Their roles had been defined naturally.

Either way, he knew he was in danger. He was building relationships with people in Olympus and developing feelings he didn't know he could feel towards their leader.

"Not bad." - he side smiled as Kiera proudly showed him her finished collection of arrows, Eli picking one of them and checking if it was sharp enough.

"Now, what?"

"We test it."

They headed outside.

"Ugh, should have built the training area instead." - Kiera murmured with a frown as they passed through the livestock pen.

"If we didn't have the livestock pen, we would be missing having that. We can train shooting from anywhere." - Eli stated.

Kiera trailed a little behind him, wondering what they were going to do in the orchard. He suddenly stopped and turned around, Kiera standing next to him.

"This is a good spot. Now, take aim and try to hit an apple."

"From here?!" - she asked, her voice an octave higher. - "I can barely see them!"

"You'll never know if you don't try." - he said as cool as ever.

A glint of challenge seemed to pass through her dark brown eyes and she promptly squared her shoulders, a defiant look on her face. She positioned herself, took aim and shot.

A low curse left her lips as they watched her arrow landing between two trees.

"It's okay, no one expects you to hit right on your first try." - he stepped closer and pointed out at the trees' foliage. - "Look, the wind is moving west. So, you have to aim against the wind’s direction. Remember, wind resistance.”

Kiera nodded and retrieved another arrow. She took aim, pointing its tip slightly to the east. And shot again.

“Well, at least this time it hit something.” - she said as they saw the arrow stuck on a tree trunk.

The woman got a new arrow, but as she positioned it, Eli stepped even closer this time and leveled his face to the same height as hers. His face was so close and they were almost touching. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Aim a little higher.” - his calloused hand gently took hers and pointed it to the right angle.

Then, he positioned himself just behind her and adjusted her other hand, heat traveling to her face as she felt his warmth on her back due to the closeness of his body. Kiera tensed up when she found herself practically in his arms, his taut muscles feeling amazing against her–

But too soon, before she could revel on it for a little longer, Eli stepped back and gave her an approval sign.

He noticed that she took a while longer to shoot this time, but the arrow hit right into an apple's center.

“NO WAY!” - Kiera couldn’t contain her shockness and ran towards it, returning with a big smile and an arrowed apple in her hand. - “I hit it!”

“Well done.” - Eli smiled, finding her excitement amusing. She grinned like she had just found the cure for everything.

They trained a few more times, Kiera’s aim getting better and better each time. After a while, they had enough apples for everyone in the colony.

“I don’t think the Sunflower Creek people will be too happy to see their apples with holes.” - Kiera chuckled to herself, as they rested on the grass, each of them savoring the fruit. - "Thanks, Eli. " - one of his dark eyebrows lifted quizzically, eating his own apple. - “You always agree to train me. And everyone else. I've trained my whole life at the Tower, but I've never had an instructor like you. When we were training, they were always yelling and barking orders at us."

"The last thing I need is you tense when killing drones. You have to be in control of the situation."

"You just sound like Brynn. She wasn't an archer, but she taught me a lot about combat training. And she would always tell me that it was okay to fail during my training, as long as I did everything right when on a mission.” - Eli saw a sad smile spreading on her face as memories flooded back to her mind.

"She would be proud of you. You're a great fighter, Kiera."

"Eli…" - her voice was just a murmur, touched by his kind words. The way she pronounced his name made his heart leap inside his chest.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, enjoying the breeze and sunlight, and each other's company. After a short while, Eli stood up.

There was still a lot to do in his routine. The day was just beginning.

To her surprise, he extended his hand. She took it and he helped her stand up and her dark eyes found his, their hands lingering together longer than necessary.

Kiera wished she could drown herself inside his warm brown eyes.

But he suddenly turned his face, scared that, if he kept gazing into her lips, he would lose himself in her.

"Let's head back. There's more to do." - he stated, as distant as ever, that invisible wall back again.

She nodded and they were leaving the orchard when they heard footsteps approaching them.

"There you are!" - May exclaimed as she reached them. - "Dirk has been looking out for you, Kiera!"

"Alright, thank you for telling me, May! Here, take one." - she handed one apple to the little girl, who took it happily.

"Oh, this one has a hole in it! But it doesn't seem to be made by a bug."

Kiera and Eli exchanged a knowing look and she tried to convince the young girl that those apples were okay to be eaten, even with the strange hole, Eli trailing just a little behind, a side smile on his lips as they went back to the manor.

And now, after that break, it was time to go back to his daily routine, feelings shut away.

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Tagging: @keviriass @smetje24689 @gipsydanger17 @calliope-luve @euphorichappiness10 (if you would like to be tagged on - or off! - on any upcoming Eli x MC fanfics, let me know)

[lvlyhao]

「PART TWO: FEAR」

HUMANITY SERIES; Q.K

A/N: took me long enough to post, I know, but thank you to that last anon for reminding me of the series lol with school i tend to forget what i have and haven’t posted but i’ll do better from now on. i hope you like this :)

important: this chapter includes mentions of vomiting and though i’ve already put a warning for violence and gore in the masterlist, i’m saying it again: please don’t read this if you are not okay with that!!!!

word count: 2.1K

pairing: qian kun x reader

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

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“I’m heading out”, your hands fondly squeeze Taeyong’s shoulders from behind him. He does not look up from his task for a few seconds, counting rolls of gauze. Then, upon processing your words, he twirls to face you. His eyes trail up and down your figure, making a mental checklist of everything you need to be safe. Apparently, one thing is missing.

“Take Jaehyun with you”, he asks, “or maybe Yuta. Johnny is always good to have around, and so is Renjun. Those swords of his are no joke”, he rambles, losing focus. The way he places his hands on his hips and sighs tells you he’s absolutely drained. “Or maybe I should go with you—”

Shaking your head fervently, you pat his cheek for his attention, observing the streaks of noon sunlight across his face. He stares at you with concern and shifts his weight.

“You’re staying right here and so are the boys, Tyong. We haven’t found a survivor in weeks, and taking one of them is always more stressful than anything”, you reason. Recollections of how the boys attract trouble wherever they go cloud your mind, far too many to count. The air suddenly feels too chilly, with shivers running down your spine. 

“Just stay here and maybe find a way to rest. You know Doyoung won’t mind keeping track of the supply for you.”

At this point, he knows it’s no use arguing. 

“Just be careful… and get back before dawn”, he adjusts the collar of your jacket, thinking back to the weather outside of the grey walls of the dorms. “All I’m saying is you never know what you’re gonna find.” Giving you a tight-lipped smile and a nod, he resumes his job, and you leave him. Headed to the heavily locked iron doors guarded by the towering figures of Shotaro and Sungchan, you ask yourself if there was any hidden depth to Taeyong's words.

“You never know what you’re gonna find, huh", you mutter.

Now, roaming the deserted streets on your own and basking in the orange glow of the afternoon, you just think he was wrong. 

It’s already been a couple of hours since you left: you’ve explored parts of the district you barely even knew before the virus, seeing all kinds of animals scurrying around your path. You’ve also eaten the rice balls Jaemin packed for you, and you’ve gawked at the decaying building that used to be your favourite theatre. It’s all the same as you imagined it would be. Not many walkers litter this part of town—just 7 or 8 you managed to avoid—and no people. No one worth rescuing.

Wandering like this, in silence, brings back memories you're not sure you like. Weekly game nights with your friends, attending Jisung’s dance presentations, playing in the park’s playground at night... All of those feel foreign to you, parts of life too good to have ever been yours. Still, the need for a shot of wistfulness takes over, and you sigh. Better now than when it gets late, then. With a shake of your head, you pick a destination and start moving.

You’re conscious of your surroundings as you keep one hand on the bow and make your way across the square. Dry, fiery leaves crunch under your boots, being the only sound you pick up. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, either. The same old abandoned stores seem to look down at you, their busted windows moaning in the wind. But, right then, something jabs at your gut. It's a silent alert to a threat you can't see. 

Damnit. You better pick up the pace.

As soon as you make a turn to the left, spying the pizza place you used to visit, you freeze. Walkers, maybe 10 of them, whimper and try to get past the debris to reach something inside a pharmacy.

How could you not notice them earlier? They’re not a quiet horde, and the awful stench is not something you should have missed either. Have you been that lost in your nostalgia?

Whatever happened, you don't have much time. If the undead are making that much effort to get around the rubble, there has to be someone inside. A fellow human being—hopefully, a nice one. Someone you can help.

Acting out of instincts, you drink in your surroundings. Having your back hastily pressed against a tree trunk is not ideal, but it's what comes to you. While you can't call yourself a strategy master, jumping right into action is not the right plan when someone else's life is in danger. 

Mind racing, you know you need a better shooting spot now if you want to make a move. Drawing them out to an alley is not a totally bad idea either. They wouldn't be able to escape, and maybe then they could flee.

As soon as you found a perfect corner for that, the screech of old door hinges catches your attention. A second later, shattering glass.

Shit. They broke in.

With no more time to assess the situation, you quickly climb up a rotting picnic table. The zombies, some missing a limb, slowly drag their feet towards a man in a plaid, blue shirt. 

He's petrified, head lashing from side to side, looking for a way out. You know very well there is none, and soon enough it will be too late. He’ll be just at reach for those disgusting, putrid fingers. If they get a bite in, it's over for you, and it's over for him.

That’s when you take the stupidest decision of your life.

Screaming.

“YO, YOU POINTLESS MEAT SACK! WHY DON’T YOU LOOK OVER HERE?”

The boy might just get whiplash from how fast his eyes find yours. His are dark and desperate, but there is something else to them—to him. Something you will never find it in you to explain. 

It could have been the way the stares right at your soul, or how his face displays every emotion from relief to terror. You could even say it was how his knees buckled under his weight or his fluttering hair in the wind. You can blame your reaction on a lot of things, but none of them startles you as much as yourself. 

A cold hand grasps at your heart, squeezing it tightly in your chest. Blood drains from your face, and your frame shakes in the wind. You know this sensation all too well to have doubts, although it is what you swore never to feel again. Fear. Not for yourself, no, even when the undead start walking towards you instead. You don't—can't— care enough about your life, and you know it. It is all for him, the beautiful stranger you are going to save.

The first two arrows find their aim, speeding right through the undead’s skulls, but something shifts in your arms. The rest of your arrows now seem to swerve a bit to the sides, lodging themselves on necks or shoulders. In other words, not where they are supposed to. 

Oh, how much you hate that the walkers will only die if you damage their brains.

“Annoying bastards, I swear—”

Falling into a state of near panic, you drop to the floor unceremoniously and race to the horde. If your bow won't do the trick, your other weapons will.

Momentarily thankful for their lack of agility, you pull out the knives hidden on the sides of your shoes. In a flurry of drive, you slash and stab everything around you. While throwing some hand-to-hand-combat here and there, your eyes start to burn. The walkers smell even worse from up close, you bitterly recall from past encounters. It's one of the things that make fighting harder—the urge to run away from them at every second.

The more daring among them clutch at your clothes, keeping your movement limited, but you manage to cut off their hands. The slick sound it makes is enough to make bile rise up your throat, but you swallow it back.

“C’mon, Y/N”, you pant, kicking what had once been an adult woman in the chest to send her down to the asphalt. “You’ve had tougher battles than this." With a breath as deep as you can manage, your knife cuts at another zombie.

It is true, you know. It's impossible to count the times you’ve been up against groups of 20 or more. You were always fine. Right now, though, wincing from multiple wounds scattered around your skin, you question how the hell did you do it.

Hurriedly glancing to your right, you notice 5 are already dead—well, dead-er than they had previously been. The lady you kicked struggles to get up, giving you a gap to spin and bury your knife into her scalp. She goes limp right away, and you stare. 4 more to go.

Just as you retrieve your blade and turn to face the other walkers, something bites your dominant hand. Hard.

With your knife tumbling down in a metallic clunk, fire shoots up your arm. The first thing you do is wiggle your hand back and forth. Some part of you thinks it was going to let go like it’s some sort of dog. You realize you were wrong when darkened saliva flows into the cuts, your mind going blank with agony.

You figure it was one of the undead you had pushed down before, only to lose sight of him later. And, yes, wiggling was a poor attempt at getting him to drop you, but you did it out of pure alarm. Fear is gradually taking over you now, freezing cold and impossible to fight.

With only your non-dominant hand free, you sloppily sink your blade down however many times it takes for the corpse to stop moving. The pain you feel is sharp, travelling through your veins like blue fire. As his grip slackens, the body slumps to the ground, a wet thud echoing. Despite the agony that threatens to blind you, you're aware of the other 3 walkers you have yet to take down.

One is easy enough, with an arrow embedded deep on one side of her neck, and another coming down on her brow bone. Repugnance swirls in your gut, and you have to look away. Their skulls are incredibly soft.

Your remaining enemies pace at either side of you, circling you with dead eyes and faltering strides. You keep your wounded hand close to you while the other clutches the leather grip of your weapon. It's time to put an end to this.

Choosing to go for the right first, you slash at his chest, grimacing at the black blood that oozes. It taints his shredded red hoodie and sprinkles at your front. The shudders that course through you in silent rage give you the strength to finish it off.

In one clean, powerful strike, your knife goes through an eyeball, but he collapses a bit too fast. You can't recover your blade.

Having no weapons on your hands, even for a second, is critical. The walkers are borderline sluggish, but it was easy to lose track of them: your severed hand was proof.

To your relief—or mild disgust—, hasty strides bounce at the pavement behind you, followed by heavy thuds on a slimy surface. It takes no more than 3 seconds for the last body to tumble by your feet, face down. 

It's only then you see the skull, or better, what is left of it. Blood and brain flow over a gaping crack, done by something sharp. You could guess it was the heavy, black rock that you find before you, held in the hands of the man you are supposed to be saving.

From there, you realize his medium length hair is a faded blue, with dark brown at the roots. A grey university hoodie hugs his slim figure under the plaids, matching his cargo pants and busted sneakers. His face is all sharp angles and soft edges, but his gaze is nothing short of magnetic.

Wide, chocolate eyes glare at the body with such horror your own throat tightens. Then, with no words shared, he lets go of the rock and stumbles back like he cannot believe what he did. Your own eyes divert to the cloudless sky, hearing him vomiting on the concrete in a matter of seconds. Poor dude.

Pity, combined with the reminiscents of adrenaline and dread, settle in you. Your thoughts boil down to one small detail: the Sun is setting.

The throbbing on your hand momentarily vanishes, lost in the memory of Taeyong very clearly telling you to be back before dawn. Aside from that, the memory of what you did to get the walkers' attention still burns at your mind. That goddamned shout. Having a sense of hearing as acute as they did, you are sure any other zombies around you are coming your way.

You have fucked up big time.

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final notes: ik chapter one wasn’t all that exciting but i’m hoping this one is better wheeze two more to come, stay tuned <3